{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_30269/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_30269","id":"gutenberg_30269","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30269","summary":null,"tags":["Asianists -- Germany -- Biography","Category: Biographies","Category: Language & Communication","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","M\u00fcller, F. Max (Friedrich Max), 1823-1900"],"text":"MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY\n\n  [Illustration: _F. Max M\u00fcller Aged 4._]\n\n\n\n\nMY AUTOBIOGRAPHY\n\nA FRAGMENT\n\n\nBY THE\n\n\nRT. HON. PROFESSOR F. MAX M\u00dcLLER, K.M.\n\n\n_WITH PORTRAITS_\n\n\nNew York\nCHARLES SCRIBNER\u2019S SONS\n1901\n\n\nCOPYRIGHT, 1901, BY\nCHARLES SCRIBNER\u2019S SONS\n\n\nTROW DIRECTORY\nPRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY\nNEW YORK\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nFor some years past my father had, in the intervals of more serious\nwork, occupied his leisure moments in jotting down reminiscences of\nhis early life. In 1898 and 1899 he issued the two volumes of _Auld\nLang Syne_, which contained recollections of his friends, but very\nlittle about his own life and career. In the Introductory Chapter to\nthe Autobiography he explains fully the reasons which led him, at his\nadvanced age, to undertake the task of writing his own Life, and he\nbegan, but alas! too late, to gather together the fragments that he\nhad written at different times. But even during the last two years of\nhis life, and after the first attack of the illness which finally\nproved fatal, he would not devote himself entirely to what he\nconsidered mere recreation, as can be seen from such a work as his\n_Six Systems of Indian Philosophy_ published in May, 1889, and from\nthe numerous articles which continued to appear up to the very time of\nhis death.\n\nDuring the last weeks of his life, when we all knew that the end could\nnot be far off, the Autobiography was constantly in his thoughts, and\nhis great desire was to leave as much as possible ready for\npublication. Even when he was lying in bed far too weak to sit up in a\nchair, he continued to work at the manuscript with me. I would read\nportions aloud to him, and he would suggest alterations and dictate\nadditions. I see that we were actually at work on this up to the 19th\nof October, and on the 28th he was taken to his well-earned rest. One\nof the last letters that I read to him was a letter from Messrs.\nLongmans, his lifelong publishers, urging the publication of the\nfragments of the Autobiography that he had then written.\n\nMy father\u2019s object in writing his Autobiography was twofold: firstly,\nto show what he considered to have been his mission in life, to lay\nbare the thread that connected all his labours; and secondly, to\nencourage young struggling scholars by letting them see how it had\nbeen possible for one of themselves, without fortune, a stranger in a\nstrange land, to arrive at the position to which he attained, without\never sacrificing his independence, or abandoning the unprofitable and\nnot very popular subjects to which he had determined to devote his\nlife.\n\nUnfortunately the last chapter takes us but little beyond the\nthreshold of his career. There is enough, however, to enable us to see\nhow from his earliest student days his leanings were philosophical and\nreligious rather than classical; how the study of Herbart\u2019s philosophy\nencouraged him in the work in which he was engaged as a mere student,\nthe Science of Language and Etymology; how his desire to know\nsomething special, that no other philosopher would know, led him to\nexplore the virgin fields of Oriental literature and religions. With\nthis motive he began the study of Arabic, Persian, and finally\nSanskrit, devoting himself more especially to the latter under\nBrockhaus and R\u00fcckert, and subsequently under Burnouf, who persuaded\nhim to undertake the colossal work of editing the Rig-veda.\n\nThe Autobiography breaks off before the end of the period during which\nhe devoted himself exclusively to Sanskrit. It is idle to speculate\nwhat course his life\u2019s work might have taken, had he been elected to\nthe Boden Professorship of Sanskrit; but he lived long enough to\nrealize that his rejection for that chair in 1860, which was so hard\nto bear at the time, was really a blessing in disguise, as it enabled\nhim to turn his attention to more general subjects, and devote himself\nto those philological, philosophical, religious and mythological\nstudies, which found their expression in a series of works commencing\nwith his _Lectures on the Science of Language_, 1861, and terminating\nwith his _Contributions to the Science of Mythology_, 1897,\u2014\u201cthe\nthread that connects the origin of thought and language with the\norigin of mythology and religion.\u201d\n\nAs to his advice to struggling scholars, the self-depreciation,\nwhich, as Professor Jowett said, is one of the greatest dangers of an\nautobiography, makes my father rather conceal the real causes of his\nsuccess in life. He even goes so far as to say, \u201ceverything in my\ncareer came about most naturally, not by my own effort, but owing to\nthose circumstances or to that environment, of which we have heard so\nmuch of late\u201d: or again, \u201cit was really my friends who did everything\nfor me and helped me over many a stile and many a ditch.\u201d No doubt in\none sense this is true, but not in the sense in which it would have\nbeen true had he, when at the University, accepted the offer which he\ntells us a wealthy cousin made him, to adopt him and send him into the\nAustrian diplomatic service, and even to procure him a wife and a\ntitle into the bargain. The friends who helped him, men such as\nHumboldt, Burnouf, Bunsen, Stanley, Kingsley, Liddell, to mention only\na few, were men whose very friendship was the surest proof of my\nfather\u2019s merits. The real secret of his success lay not in his\nfriends, but in himself;\u2014in the knowledge that his success or failure\nin life depended entirely on his own efforts; in the fixity of purpose\nwhich made him refuse all offers that would lead him from the pathway\nthat he had laid down for himself; and in the unflagging industry with\nwhich he strove to reach the goal of his ambition. \u201cMy very\nstruggles,\u201d he writes, \u201cwere certainly a help to me.\u201d\n\nWhen I came to examine the manuscript with a view to sending it to\npress, I found that there was a good deal of work necessary before it\ncould be published in book form. The fragments were in many cases\nincomplete; there was no division into chapters, no connexion between\nthe various periods and episodes of his life; important incidents were\nomitted; while, owing to the intermittent way in which he had been\nwriting, there were frequent repetitions. My father was always most\ncritical of his own style, and would often, when correcting his\nproof-sheets, alter a whole page, because a word or a phrase\ndispleased him, or because some new idea, some happier mode of\nexpression, occurred to him; but in the case of his Autobiography, the\nonly revision that he was able to give, was on his deathbed, while I\nread the manuscript aloud to him.\n\nMy father points out how rarely the sons of great musicians or great\npainters become distinguished in the same line themselves. \u201cIt seems,\u201d\nhe says, \u201calmost as if the artistic talent were exhausted by one\ngeneration or one individual\u201d; and I fear that, in my case at all\nevents, the same remark applies to literary talent. I have done my\nbest to string the fragments together into one connected whole, only\nmaking such insertions, elisions and alterations as appeared strictly\nnecessary. Any deficiency in literary style that may be noticeable in\nportions of the book should be ascribed to the inexperience of the\neditor.\n\nI have thought it right to insert the last chapter, which I call \u201cA\nConfession,\u201d though I am not sure that my father intended it to be\nincluded in his Autobiography. It will, however, explain the attitude\nwhich he observed throughout his life, in keeping aloof, as far as\npossible, from the arena of academic contention at Oxford. He was\nnever chosen a member of the Hebdomadal Council, he rarely attended\nmeetings of Convocation or Congregation; he felt that other people,\nwith more leisure at their disposal, could be of more use there; but\nhe never refused to work for his University, when he felt that he was\nable to render good service, and he acted for years as a Curator of\nthe Bodleian Library and of the Taylorian Institute, and as a Delegate\nof the Clarendon Press.\n\nWith reference to the illustrations, it may be of interest to readers\nto know that the portraits of my grandfather and grandmother are taken\nfrom pencil-drawings by Adolf Hensel, the husband of Mendelssohn\u2019s\nsister Fanny, herself a great musician, who, as my father tells us in\n_Auld Lang Syne_, really composed several of the airs that Mendelssohn\npublished as his _Songs without Words_. The last portrait of my father\nis from a photograph taken soon after his arrival in Oxford by his\ngreat friend Thomson, afterwards Archbishop of York.\n\nNothing now remains for me but to acknowledge the debt that I owe\npersonally to this book. \u201cWork,\u201d my father used often to say to me,\n\u201cis the best healer of sorrow. In grief or disappointment, try hard\nwork; it will not fail you.\u201d And certainly during these three sad\nmonths, I have proved the truth of this saying. He could not have left\nme a surer comfort or more welcome distraction than the duty of\npreparing for press these pages, the last fruits of that mind which\nremained active and fertile to the last.\n\n                                          W. G. MAX M\u00dcLLER.\n\n  OXFORD, _January_, 1901.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nCHAPTER                               PAGE\n\n   I. INTRODUCTORY                     1\n\n  II. CHILDHOOD AT DESSAU             46\n\n III. SCHOOL-DAYS AT LEIPZIG          97\n\n  IV. UNIVERSITY                     115\n\n   V. PARIS                          162\n\n  VI. ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND             188\n\n VII. EARLY DAYS AT OXFORD           218\n\nVIII. EARLY FRIENDS AT OXFORD        272\n\n  IX. A CONFESSION                   308\n\n      INDEX                          319\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF PORTRAITS\n\n\nF. MAX M\u00dcLLER, AGED FOUR        _Frontispiece_\n\n                                 FACING PAGE\n\nMY FATHER                            46\n\nMY MOTHER                            58\n\nF. MAX M\u00dcLLER, AGED FOURTEEN        106\n\n    \"    \"     AGED TWENTY          156\n\n    \"    \"     AGED THIRTY          268\n\n\n\n\nMY AUTOBIOGRAPHY\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nINTRODUCTORY\n\n\nAfter the publication of the second volume of my _Auld Lang Syne_,\n1899, I had a good deal of correspondence, of public criticism, and of\nprivate communings also with myself, whether I should continue my\nbiographical records in the form hitherto adopted, or give a more\npersonal character to my recollections. Some of my friends were\nevidently dissatisfied. \u201cThe recollections of your friends and the\naccount of the influence they exercised on you,\u201d they said, \u201care\ninteresting, no doubt, as far as they go, but we want more. We want to\nknow the springs, the aspirations, the struggles, the failures, and\nachievements of your life. We want to know how you yourself look at\nyourself and at your past life and its various incidents.\u201d What they\nreally wanted was, in fact, an autobiography. \u201cNo one,\u201d as a friend of\nmine, not an Irishman, said, \u201ccould do that so well as yourself, and\nyou will never escape a biographer.\u201d I confess that did not frighten\nme very much. I did not think the danger of a biography very\nimminent. Besides, I had already revised two biographies and several\nbiographical notices even during my lifetime. No sensible man ought to\ncare about posthumous praise or posthumous blame. Enough for the day\nis the evil thereof. Our contemporaries are our right judges, our\npeers have to give their votes in the great academies and learned\nsocieties, and if they on the whole are not dissatisfied with the\nlittle we have done, often under far greater difficulties than the\nworld was aware of, why should we care for the distant future? Who was\na greater giant in philosophy than Hegel? Who towered higher than\nDarwin in natural science? Yet in one of the best German reviews[1]\nthe following words of a young German biologist[2] are quoted, and not\nwithout a certain approval: \u201cDarwinism belongs now to history, like\nthat other _curiosum_ of our century, the Hegelian philosophy. Both\nare variations on the theme, How can a generation be led by the nose?\nand they are not calculated to raise our departing century in the eyes\nof later generations.\u201d\n\n  [1] _Deutsche Rundschau_, Feb., 1900, p. 249.\n\n  [2] Driesch, _Biologisches Centralblatt_, 1896, p. 335.\n\nIf I was afraid of anything, it was not so much the severity of future\njudges, as the extreme kindness and leniency which distinguish most\nbiographies in our days. It is true, it would not be easy for those\nwho have hereafter to report on our labours to discover the red\nthread that runs through all of them from our first stammerings to our\nlatest murmurings. It might be said that in my own case the thread\nthat connects all my labours is very visible, namely, the thread that\nconnects the origin of thought and languages with the origin of\nmythology and religion. Everything I have done was, no doubt,\nsubordinate to these four great problems, but to lay bare the\nconnecting links between what I have written and what I wanted to\nwrite and never found time to write, is by no means easy, not even for\nthe author himself. Besides, what author has ever said the last word\nhe wanted to say, and who has not had to close his eyes before he\ncould write Finis to his work? There are many things still which I\nshould like to say, but I am getting tired, and others will say them\nmuch better than I could, and will no doubt carry on the work where I\nhad to leave it unfinished. We owe much to others, and we have to\nleave much to others. For throwing light on such points an\nautobiography is, no doubt, better adapted than any biography written\nby a stranger, if only we can at the same time completely forget that\nthe man who is described is the same as the man who describes.\n\n\u201cFriends,\u201d as Professor Jowett said, \u201calways think it necessary\n(except Boswell, that great genius) to tell lies about their deceased\nfriend; they leave out all his faults lest the public should\nexaggerate them. But we want to know his faults,\u2014hat is probably\nthe most interesting part of him.\u201d\n\nJowett knew quite well, and he did not hesitate to say so, that to do\nmuch good in this world, you must be a very able and honest man,\nthinking of nothing else day and night; and he adds, \u201cyou must also be\na considerable piece of a rogue, having many reticences and\nconcealments; and I believe a good sort of roguery is never to say a\nword against anybody, however much they may deserve it.\u201d\n\nNow Professor Jowett has certainly done some good work at Oxford, but\nif any one were to say that he also was a considerable piece of a\nrogue, what an outcry there would be among the sons of Balliol. Jowett\nthought that the only chance of a good biography was for a man to\nwrite memoirs of himself, and what a pity that he did not do so in his\nown case. His friends, however, who had to write his Life were wise,\nand he escaped what of late has happened to several eminent men. He\nescaped the testimonials for this, and testimonials for another life,\nsuch as they are often published in our days.\n\nTestimonials are bad enough in this life, when we have to select one\nout of many candidates as best fitted for an office, and it is but\nnatural that the electors will hardly ever look at them, but will try\nto get their information through some other channel. But what are\ncalled _post obit_ testimonials really go beyond everything yet known\nin funeral panegyrics. Of course, as no one is asked for such\ntestimonials except those who are known to have been friends of the\ndeparted, these testimonials hardly ever contain one word of blame.\nOne feels ashamed to write such testimonials, but if you are asked,\nwhat can you do without giving offence? We are placed altogether in a\nfalse position. Let any one try to speak the truth and nothing but the\ntruth, and he will find that it is almost impossible to put down\nanything that in the slightest way might seem to reflect on the\ndeparted. The mention of the most innocent failings in an obituary\nnotice is sure to offend somebody, the widow or the children, or some\ndear friend. I thought that my Recollections had hitherto contained\nnothing that could possibly offend anybody, nothing that could not\nhave been published during the lifetime of the man to whom it\nreferred. But no; I had ever so many complaints, and I gladly left\nout, in later editions, names which in many cases were really of no\nconsequence compared with what they said and did.\n\nSurely every man has his faults and his little and often ridiculous\nweaknesses, and these weaknesses belong quite as much to a man\u2019s\ncharacter as his strength; nay, with the suppression of the former the\nlatter would often become almost unintelligible.\n\nI like the biographies of such friends of mine as Dean Stanley,\nCharles Kingsley, and Baron Bunsen. But even these are deficient in\nthose shadows which would but help to bring out all the more clearly\nthe bright points in their character. We should remember the words of\nDr. Wendell Holmes: \u201cWe all want to draw perfect ideals, and all the\ncoin that comes from Nature\u2019s mint is more or less clipped, filed,\n\u2018sweated,\u2019 or bruised, and bent and worn, even if it was pure metal\nwhen stamped, which is more than we can claim, I suppose, for anything\nhuman.\u201d True, very true; and what would the departed himself say to\nsuch biographies as are now but too common,\u2014most flattering pictures\nno doubt, but pictures without one spot or wrinkle? In Germany it was\nformerly not an uncommon thing for the author of a book to write a\nself-review (Selbst-Kritik), and these were generally far better than\nreviews written by friends or enemies. For who knows the strong and\nweak points of a book so well as the author? True; but a whole life is\nmore difficult to review and to criticize than a single book.\nNevertheless it must be admitted that an autobiography has many\nadvantages, and it might be well if every man of note, nay, every man\nwho has something to say for himself that he wishes posterity to know,\nshould say it himself. This would in time form a wonderful archive for\npsychological study. Something of the kind has been done already at\nBerlin in preserving private correspondences. Of course it is\ndifficult to keep such archives within reasonable limits, but here\nagain I am not afraid of self-laudation so much as of self-depreciation.\n\nProfessor Jowett, who did not write his own biography, was quite\nright in saying that there is great danger of an autobiography being\nrather self-depreciatory; there is certainly something so nauseous in\nself-praise that most people would shrink far more from self-praise\nthan from self-blame. There may be some kind of subtle self-admiration\neven in the fault-finding of an outspoken autobiographer; but who can\ndive into those deepest depths of the human soul? To me it seems that\nif an honest man takes himself by the neck, and shakes himself, he can\ndo it far better than anybody else, and the castigation, if well\ndeserved, comes certainly with a far better grace from himself than if\nadministered by others.\n\nFew men, I believe, know their real goodness and greatness. Some of\nthe most handsome women, so we are assured, pass through life without\never knowing from their looking-glass that they are handsome. And it\nis certainly true that men, from sad experience, know their weak\npoints far better than their good points, which they look on as no\nmore than natural.\n\nThe Autos, for instance, described by John Stuart Mill, has no cause\nto be grateful to the Autos that wrote his biography. Mill had been\nthreatened by several future biographers, and he therefore wrote the\nshort biographical account of himself almost in self-defence. But\nbesides the truly miraculous, and, if related by anybody else, hardly\ncredible achievements of his early boyhood and youth, his great\nachievements in later life, the influence which he exercised both by\nhis writings and still more by his personal and public character,\nwould have found a far more eloquent and truthful interpreter in a\nstranger than in Mill himself. I remember another case where a most\ndistinguished author tried to escape the oil and the blessings,\nperhaps the opposite also, from the hands of his future biographers.\nFroude destroyed the whole of his correspondence, and he wished\nparticularly that all letters written to him in the fullest confidence\nshould be burnt,\u2014and they were. I think it was a pity, for I know\nwhat valuable letters were destroyed in that _auto da f\u00e9_; and yet\nwhen he had done all this, he seems to have been seized with fear, and\njust before he returned to Oxford as Regius Professor of Modern\nHistory he began to write a sketch of his own life, which was found\namong his papers. Interesting it certainly was, but fortunately his\nbest friends prevented its publication. It would have added nothing to\nwhat we know of him in his writings, and would never have put his real\nmerits in their proper light. Besides, it came to an end with his\nyouth and told us little of his real life.\n\nI flattered myself that I had found the true way out of all these\ndifficulties, by writing not exactly my own life, but recollections of\nmy friends and acquaintances who had influenced me most, and guided me\nin my not always easy passage through life. As in describing the\ncourse of a river, we cannot do better than to describe the shores\nwhich hem in and divert the river and are reflected on its waves, I\nthought that by describing my environment, my friends, and fellow\nworkers, I could best describe the course of my own life. I hoped also\nthat in this way I myself could keep as much as possible in the\nbackground, and yet in describing the wooded or rocky shores with\ntheir herds, their cottages, and churches, describe their reflected\nimage on the passing river.\n\nBut now I am asked to give a much fuller account of myself, not only\nof what I have seen, but also of what I have been, what were the\nobjects or ideals of my life, how far I have succeeded in carrying\nthem out, and, as I said, how often I have failed to accomplish what I\nhad sketched out as my task in life. People wished to know how a boy,\nborn and educated in a small and almost unknown town in the centre of\nGermany, should have come to England, should have been chosen there to\nedit the oldest book of the world, the Veda of the Brahmans, never\npublished before, whether in India or in Europe, should have passed\nthe best part of his life as a professor in the most famous and, as it\nwas thought, the most exclusive University in England, and should\nactually have ended his days as a Member of Her Majesty\u2019s most\nhonourable Privy Council. I confess myself it seems a very strange\ncareer, yet everything came about most naturally, not by my own\neffort, but owing again to those circumstances or to that environment\nof which we have heard so much of late.\n\nYoung, struggling men also have written to me, and asked me how I\nmanaged to keep my head above water in that keen struggle for life\nthat is always going on in the whirlpool of the learned world of\nEngland. They knew, for I had never made any secret of it, how poor I\nwas in worldly goods, and how, as I said at Glasgow, I had nothing to\ndepend on after I left the University, but those fingers with which I\nstill hold my pen and write so badly that I can hardly read my\nmanuscript myself. When I arrived I had no family connections in\nEngland, nor any influential friends, \u201cand yet,\u201d I was told, \u201cin a\nforeign country, you managed to reach the top of your profession. Tell\nus how you did it; and how you preserved at the same time your\nindependence and never forsook the not very popular subjects, such as\nlanguage, mythology, religion, and philosophy, on which you continued\nto write to the very end of your life.\u201d\n\nI generally said that most of these questions could best be answered\nfrom my books, but they replied that few people had time to read all I\nhad written, and many would feel grateful for a thread to lead them\nthrough this labyrinth of books, essays, and pamphlets, which have\nissued from my workshop during the last fifty years.[3]\n\n  [3] As giving a clear and complete abstract of my writings I\n  may now recommend M. Montcalm\u2019s _L\u2019origine de la Pens\u00e9e et de\n  la Parole_, Paris, 1900.\n\nAll I could say was that each man must find his own way in life, but\nif there was any secret about my success, it was simply due to the\nfact that I had perfect faith, and went on never doubting even when\neverything looked grey and black about me. I felt convinced that what\nI cared for, and what I thought worthy of a whole life of hard work,\nmust in the end be recognized by others also as of value, and as\nworthy of a certain support from the public. Had not Layard gained a\nhearing for Assyrian bulls? Did not Darwin induce the world to take an\ninterest in Worms, and in the Fertilization of Orchids? And should the\noldest book and the oldest thoughts of the Aryan world remain despised\nand neglected?\n\nFor many years I never thought of appointments or of getting on in the\nworld in a pecuniary sense. My friends often laughed at me, and when I\nthink of it now, I confess I must have seemed very Quixotic to many of\nthose who tried for this and that, got lucrative appointments, married\nrich wives, became judges and bishops, ambassadors and ministers, and\ncould hardly understand what I was driving at with my Sanskrit\nmanuscripts, my proof-sheets and revises. Perhaps I did not know\nmyself. Still I was not quite so foolish as they imagined. True, I\ndeclined several offers made to me which seemed very advantageous in a\nworldly sense, but would have separated me entirely from my favourite\nwork.\n\nWhen at last a professorship of Modern Literature was offered me at\nOxford, I made up my mind, though it was not exactly what I should\nhave liked, to give up half of my time to studies required by this\nprofessorship, keeping half of my time for the Veda and for Sanskrit\nin general. This was not so bad after all. People often laughed at me\nfor being professor of the most modern languages, and giving so much\nof my time and labour to the most ancient language and literature in\nthe world. Perhaps it was not quite right my giving up so much of my\ntime to modern languages, a subject so remote from my work in life,\nbut it was a concession which I could make with a good conscience,\nhaving always held that language was one and indivisible, and that\nthere never had been a break between Sanskrit, Latin, and French, or\nSanskrit, Gothic, and German. One of my first lectures at Oxford was\n\u201cOn the antiquity of modern languages,\u201d so that I gave full notice to\nthe University as to how I meant to treat my subject, and on the whole\nthe University seems to have been satisfied with my professorial work,\nso that when afterwards for very good reasons, whether financial,\ntheological, or national, I, or rather my friends, failed to secure a\nmajority in Convocation for a professorship of Sanskrit, the\nUniversity actually founded for me a Professorship of Comparative\nPhilology, an honour of which I had never dreamt, and to secure which\nI certainly had never taken any steps.\n\nHere is all my secret. At first, as I said, it required faith, but it\nalso required for many years a perfect indifference as to worldly\nsuccess. And here again in my career as a Sanskrit scholar, mere\ncircumstances were of great importance. They were circumstances which\nI was glad to accept, but which I could never have created myself. It\nwas surely a mere accident that the Directors of the Old East India\nCompany voted a large sum of money for printing the six large quartos\nof the Rig-veda of about a thousand pages each. It was at the time\nwhen the fate of the Company hung in the balance, and when Bunsen, the\nPrussian Minister, made himself _persona grata_ by delivering a speech\nat one of the public dinners in the City, setting forth in eloquent\nwords the undeniable merits of the Old Company and the wonderful work\nthey had achieved. It was likewise a mere accident that I should have\nbecome known to Bunsen, and that he should have shown me so much\nkindness in my literary work. He had himself tried hard to go to India\nto discover the Rig-veda, nay, to find out whether there was still\nsuch a thing as the Veda in India. The same Bunsen, His Excellency\nBaron Bunsen, the Prussian Minister in London, on his own accord went\nafterwards to see the Chairman and the Directors of the East India\nCompany, and explained to them what the Rig-veda was, and that it\nwould be a real disgrace if such a work were published in Germany; and\nthey agreed to vote a sum of money such as they had never voted\nbefore for any literary undertaking. Though after the mutiny nothing\ncould save them, I had at least the satisfaction of dedicating the\nfirst volume of my edition of the Rig-veda to the Chairman and the\nDirectors of the much abused East India Company,\u2014much abused though\nsplendidly defended also by no less a man than John Stuart Mill.\n\nThis is what I mean by friends and circumstances, and that is the\nenvironment which I wished to describe in my Recollections instead of\nalways dwelling on what I meant to do myself and what I did myself.\nSmall and large things work wonderfully together. It was the change\nthreatening the government of India, and a mighty change it was, that\ngave me the chance of publishing the Veda, a very small matter as it\nmay seem in the eyes of most people, and yet intended to bring about\nquite as mighty a change in our views of the ancient people of the\nworld, particularly of their languages and religions. This, too\u2014the\ndevelopment of language and religion\u2014seems of importance to some\npeople who do not care two straws for the East India Company,\nparticularly if it helps us to learn what we really are ourselves, and\nhow we came to be what we are.\n\nIn one sense biographies and autobiographies are certainly among the\nmost valuable materials for the historian. Biography, as Heinrich\nSimon, not Henri Simon, said, is the best kind of history, and the\nlife of one man, if laid open before us with all he thought and all he\ndid, gives us a better insight into the history of his time than any\ngeneral account of it can possibly do.\n\nNow it is quite true that the life of a quiet scholar has little to do\nwith history, except it may be the history of his own branch of study,\nwhich some people consider quite unimportant, while to others it seems\nall-important. This is as it ought to be, till the universal historian\nfinds the right perspective, and assigns to each branch of study and\nactivity its proper place in the panorama of the progress of mankind\ntowards its ideals. Even a quiet scholar, if he keeps his eyes open,\nmay now and then see something that is of importance to the historian.\nWhile I was living in small rooms at Leipzig, or lodging _au\ncinqui\u00e8me_ in the Rue Royale at Paris, or copying manuscripts in a\ndark room of the old East India House in Leadenhall Street, I now and\nthen caught glimpses of the mighty stream of history as it was rushing\nby. At Leipzig I saw much of Robert Blum who was afterwards _fusill\u00e9_\nat Vienna by Windischgr\u00e4tz in defiance of all international law, for\nhe was a member of the German Diet, then sitting at Frankfurt. From my\nwindows at Paris I looked over the _Boulevard de la Madeleine_, and\ndown on the right to the _Chambre des D\u00e9put\u00e9s_, and I saw from my\nwindows the throne of Louis Philippe carried along by its four legs by\nfour women on horseback, with Phrygian caps and red scarfs, and I saw\nthe next morning from the same windows the stretchers carrying the\ndead and wounded from the Boulevards to a hospital at the back of my\nstreet. In my small study at the East India House I saw several of the\nDirectors, Colonel Sykes and others, and heard them discussing the\nfate of the East India Company and of the vast empire of India too,\nand at the same time the private interests of those who hoped to be\nMembers of the new India Council, and those who despaired of that\ndistinction. I was the first to bring the news of the French\nRevolution in February to London, and presented a bullet that had\nsmashed the windows of my room at Paris, to Bunsen, who took it in the\nevening to Lord Palmerston. After I had seen the Revolution in Paris\nand the flight of the King and the Duchesse d\u2019Orl\u00e9ans, I was in time\nto see in London the Chartist Deputation to Parliament, and the\nassembled police in Trafalgar Square, when Louis Napoleon served as a\nSpecial Constable, and I heard the Duke of Wellington explain to\nBunsen, that though no soldier was seen in the streets there was\nartillery hidden under the bridges, and ready to act if wanted. I\ncould add more, but I must not anticipate, and after all, to me all\nthese great events seemed but small compared with a new manuscript of\nthe Veda sent from India, or a better reading of an obscure passage.\n_Diversos diversa iuvant_, and it is fortunate that it should be so.\n\nAll these things, I thought, should form part of my Recollections,\nand my own little self should disappear as much as possible. Even the\npronoun I should meet the reader but seldom, though in Recollections\nit was as impossible to leave it out altogether as it would be to take\naway the lens from a photographic camera. Now I believe I have always\nbeen most willing to yield to my friends, and I shall in this matter\nalso yield to them so far that in the Recollections which follow there\nwill be more of my inward and outward struggles; but I must on the\nwhole adhere to my old plan. I could not, if I would, neglect the\nenvironment of my life, and the many friends that advised and helped\nme, and enabled me to achieve the little that I may have achieved in\nmy own line of study.\n\nIf my friends had been different from what they were, should I not\nhave become a different man myself, whether for good or for evil? And\nthe same applies to our natural surroundings also. And here I must\ninvoke the patience of my readers, if I try to explain in as few words\nas possible what I think about _environment_, and what about\n_heredity_ or _atavism_.\n\nI was a thorough Darwinian in ascribing the shaping of my career to\nenvironment, though I was always very averse to atavism, of which we\nhave heard so much lately in most biographies. Even with respect to\nenvironment, however, I could not go quite so far as certain of our\nDarwinian friends, who maintain that everything is the result of\nenvironment, or translated into biographical language, that everybody\nis a creature of circumstances. No, I could not go so far as that.\nEnvironment may shape our course and may shape us, but there must be\nsomething that is shaped, and allows itself to be shaped. I was once\nseriously asked by one who considers himself a Darwinian whether I did\nnot know that the Mammoth was driven by the extreme cold of the\nPleiocene Period to grow a thick fur in his struggle for life. That he\ngrew then a thicker fur, I knew, but that surely does not explain the\nwhole of the Mammoth, with and without a thick fur, before and after\nthe fur. It is really a pity to see for how many of these downright\nabsurdities Darwin is made responsible by the Darwinians. He has\nclearly shown how in many cases the individual may be modified almost\nbeyond recognition by environment, but the individual must always have\nbeen there first. Before we had a spaniel and a Newfoundland dog there\nmust have been some kind of dog, neither so small as the spaniel nor\nso large as the Newfoundland, and no one would now doubt that these\ntwo belonged to the same species and presupposed some kind of a less\nmodified canine creature. It is equally true that every individual man\nhas been modified by his surroundings or environment, if not to the\nsame extent as certain animals, yet very considerably, as in the case\nof Kaspar Hauser, the man with the iron mask, or the mutineers of the\n_Bounty_ in the Pitcairn Islands. But there must have been the man\nfirst, before he could be so modified. Now it was this very\nindividual, my own self in fact, the spiritual self even more than the\nphysical, that interested my critics, while I thought that the\ncircumstances which moulded that self would be of far greater interest\nthan the self itself. Of course all the modifications that men now\nundergo are nothing if compared to the early modifications which\nproduced what we speak of as racial, linguistic, or even national\npeculiarities. That we are English or German, that we are white or\nblack, nay, if you like, that we are human beings at all, all this has\nmodified our self, or our germ-plasm, far more powerfully than\nanything that can happen to us as individuals now.\n\nWhen my friends and readers assured me that an account of my early\nstruggles in the battle of life would be useful to many a young,\nstruggling man, all I could say was that here again it was really my\nfriends who did everything for me, and helped me over many a stile,\nand many a ditch, nay, without whom I should never have done whatever\nI did for the Sciences of Language, of Mythology, and Religion, in\nfact for Anthropology in the widest sense of that word. My very\nstruggles were certainly a help to me, even my opponents were most\nuseful to me. The subjects on which I wrote had hardly been touched on\nin England, at least from the historical point of view which I took,\nand I had not only to overcome the indifference of the public, but to\ndisarm as much as possible the prejudices often felt, and sometimes\nexpressed also, against anything made in Germany! Now I confess I\ncould never understand such a prejudice among men of science. Was I\nmore right or more wrong because I was born in Germany? Is scientific\ntruth the exclusive property of one nation, of Germany, or of England?\nIf I say two and two make four in German, is that less true because it\nis said by a German? and if I say, no language without thought, no\nthought without language, has that anything to do with my native\ncountry? The prejudice against strangers and particularly against\nGermans is, no doubt, much stronger now than it was at the time when I\nfirst came to England. I had spent nearly two years in Paris, and\nthere too there existed then so little of unfriendly feeling towards\nGermany, that one of the best reviews to which the rising scholars and\nbest writers of Paris contributed was actually called _Revue\nGermanique_. Who would now venture to publish in Paris such a review\nand under such a title? If there existed such an anti-German feeling\nanywhere in England when I arrived here in the year 1846, one would\nsuppose that it existed most strongly at Oxford. And so it did, no\ndoubt, particularly among theologians. With them German meant much the\nsame as unorthodox, and unorthodox was enough at that time to taboo a\nman at Oxford. In one of the sermons preached in these early days at\nSt. Mary\u2019s, German theologians such as Strauss and Neander (_sic_)\nwere spoken of as fit only to be drowned in the German Ocean, before\nthey reached the shores of England. I do not add what followed: the\nstory is too well known. I was chiefly amused by the juxtaposition of\nStrauss and Neander, whose most orthodox lectures on the history of\nthe Christian Church I had attended at Berlin. Neander was certainly\nto us at Berlin the very pattern of orthodoxy, and people wondered at\nmy attending his lectures. But they were good and honest lectures. He\nwas quite a character, and I feel tempted to go a little out of my way\nin speaking of him. By birth a Jew, he became one of the most learned\nChristian divines. Ever so many stories were told of him, some true,\nsome no doubt invented. I saw him often walking to and from the\nUniversity to give his lectures in a large fur coat, with high black\npolished boots beneath, but showing occasionally as he walked along.\nIt was told that he once sent for a doctor because he was lame. The\ndoctor on examining his feet, saw that one boot was covered with mud,\nwhile the other was perfectly clean. The Professor had walked with one\nfoot on the pavement, with the other in the gutter, and was far too\nmuch absorbed in his ideas to discover the true cause of his\ndiscomfort. He lived with his sister, who took complete care of him\nand saw to his wardrobe also. She knew that he wore one pair of\ntrousers, and that on a certain day in the year the tailor brought him\na new pair. Great was her amazement when one day, after her brother\nhad gone to the University, she discovered his pair of trousers lying\non a chair near his bed. She at once sent a servant to the Professor\u2019s\nlecture-room to inquire whether he had his trousers on. The hilarity\nof his class may be imagined. The fact was it was the very day on\nwhich the tailor was in the habit of bringing the new pair of\ntrousers, which the Professor had put on, leaving his usual garment\nbehind.\n\nMany more stories of his absent-mindedness were _en vogue_ about Dr.\nNeander, but that this man, a pillar of strength to the orthodox in\nGermany, who was looked up to as an infallible Pope, should have his\nname coupled with that of Strauss certainly gave one a little shock.\nYet it was at Oxford that I pitched my tent, chiefly in order to\nsuperintend the printing of my Rig-veda at the University Press there,\nand never dreaming that a fellowship, still less a professorship in\nthat ancient Tory University, would ever be offered to me.\n\nFor me to go to Oxford to get a fellowship or professorship would have\nseemed about as absurd as going to Rome to become a Cardinal or a\nPope; and yet in time I was chosen a Fellow of All Souls, and the\nfirst married Fellow of the College, and even a professorship was\noffered to me when I least expected it. The fact is, I never thought\nof either, and no one was more surprised than myself when I was asked\nto act as deputy, and then as full Taylorian Professor; no one could\nhave mistrusted his eyes more than I did, when one of the Fellows of\nAll Soul\u2019s informed me by letter that it was the intention of the\nCollege to elect me one of its fellows. My ambition had never soared\nso high. I was thinking of returning to Leipzig as a _Privat-docent_,\nto rise afterwards to an extraordinary and, if all went well, to an\nordinary professorship.\n\nBut after these two appointments at Oxford had secured to me what I\nthought a fair social and financial position in England, I did not\nfeel justified in attempting to begin life again in Germany. I had not\nasked for a professorship or fellowship. They were offered me, and my\nambition never went beyond securing what was necessary for my\nindependence. In Germany I was supposed to have become quite wealthy;\nin England people knew how small my income really was, and wondered\nhow I managed to live on it. They did not suppose that I had chiefly\nto depend on my pen in order to live as a professor is expected to\nlive at Oxford. I could not see anything anomalous in a German holding\na professorship in England. There were several cases of the same kind\nin Germany. Lassen (1800-1876), our great Sanskrit professor at Bonn,\nwas a Norwegian by birth, and no one ever thought of his nationality.\nWhat had that to do with his knowledge of Sanskrit? Nor was I ever\ntreated as an alien or as intruder at Oxford, at least not at that\nearly time. As to myself, I had now obtained what seemed to me a small\nbut sufficient income with perfect independence. The quiet life of a\nquiet student had been from my earliest days my ideal in life. Even at\nschool at Dessau, when we boys talked of what we hoped to be, I\nremember how my ideal was that of a monk, undisturbed in his\nmonastery, surrounded by books and by a few friends. The idea that I\nshould ever rise to be a professor in a university, or that any career\nlike that of my father, grandfather, and other members of my family\nwould ever be open to me, never entered my mind then. It seemed to me\nalmost disloyal to think of ever taking their places. Even when I saw\nthat there were no longer any Protestant monks, no Benedictines, the\nplace of an assistant in a large library, sitting in a quiet corner,\nwas my highest ambition.\n\nI do not see why it should have been so, for all my relations and\nfriends occupied high places in the public service, but as I had no\nfather to open my eyes, and to stimulate my ambition\u2014he having died\nbefore I was four years old\u2014my ideas of life and its possibilities\nwere evidently taken from my young widowed mother, whose one desire\nwas to be left alone, much as the world tempted her, then not yet\nthirty years old, to give up her mourning and to return to society.\nThus it soon became my own philosophy of life, to be left alone, free\nto go my own way, or like Diogenes, to live in my own tub. Here we see\nwhat I call the influence of circumstances, of surroundings, or as\nothers call it, of environment. This, however, is very different from\natavism, as we shall see presently. Atavism also has been called a\nkind of environment, attacking us and influencing us from the past,\nand as it were, from behind, from the North in fact instead of the\nSouth, the East, and the West, and from all the points of the compass.\n\nBut atavism means really a very different thing, if indeed it means\nanything at all.\n\nI must ease my conscience once for all on this point, and say what I\nfeel about atavism and environment. Environment in the shape of\nfriends, of locality, and other material circumstances, has certainly\ninfluenced my life very much, and I could never see why such a hybrid\nword as environment should be used instead of surroundings or\ncircumstances. Creatures of circumstances would be far better\nunderstood than creatures of environment; but environment, I suppose,\nwould sound more scientific. Atavism also is a new word, instead of\nfamily likeness, but unless carefully defined, the word is very apt to\nmislead us.\n\nWhen it is said[4] that children often resemble their grandfathers or\ngrandmothers more than their immediate parents, and that this\npropensity is termed atavism, this does not seem quite correct even\netymologically, for atavus in Latin did not mean father or\ngrandfather, but at first great-great-great-grandfather, and then\nonly ancestors; and what should be made quite clear is that this\nmysterious atavism should not be used by careful speakers, to express\nthe supposed influence of parents or even grandparents, but that of\nmore distant ancestors only, and possibly of a whole family.\n\n  [4] _Oxford Dictionary_, s. v.; J. Rennie, _Science of\n  Gardening_, p. 113.\n\nMany biographers, such is the fashion now, begin their works with a\nlong account not only of father and mother, but of grandparents and of\never so many ancestors, in order to show how these determined the\noutward and inward character of the man whose life has to be written.\nWho would deny that there is some truth, or at least some\nplausibility, in atavism, though no one has as yet succeeded in giving\nan intelligible account of it? It is supposed to affect the moral as\nwell as the physical peculiarities of the offspring, and that here,\ntoo, physical and moral qualities often go together cannot be denied.\nA blind person, for instance, is generally cautious, but happy and\nquite at his ease in large societies. A deaf person is often\nsuspicious and unhappy in society. In inheriting blindness, therefore,\na man could well be said to have inherited cautiousness; in inheriting\ndeafness, suspiciousness would seem to have come to him by\ninheritance.\n\nBut is blindness really inherited? Is the son of a father who has lost\nhis eyesight blind, and necessarily blind? We must distinguish between\natavistic and parental influences. Parental influences would mean the\ninfluence of qualities acquired by the parents, and directly\nbequeathed to their offspring; atavistic influences would refer to\nqualities inherited and transmitted, it may be, through several\ngenerations, and engrained in a whole family. In keeping these two\nclasses separate, we should only be following Weismann\u2019s example, who\ndenies altogether that acquired qualities are ever heritable. His\nexamples are most interesting and most important, and many Darwinians\nhave had to accept his amendment. Besides, we should always consider\nwhether certain peculiarities are constant in a family or inconstant.\nIf a father is a drunkard, surely it does not follow that his sons\nmust be drunkards. Neither does it follow that all the children must\nbe sober if the parents are sober. Of course, in ordinary conversation\nboth parental and ancestral influences seem clear enough. But if a\nchild is said to favour his mother, because like her he has blue eyes\nand fair hair, what becomes of the heritage from the father who may\nhave brown eyes and dark hair? Whatever may happen to the children,\nthere is always an excuse, only an excuse is not an explanation. If\nthe daughter of a beautiful woman grows up very plain, the Frenchman\nwas no doubt right when he remarked, _C\u2019\u00e9tait alors le p\u00e8re qui\nn\u2019\u00e9tait pas bien_, and if the son of a teetotaller should later in\nlife become a drunkard, the conclusion would be even worse. In fact,\nthis kind of atavistic or parental influence is a very pleasant\nsubject for gossips, but from a scientific point of view, it is\nperfectly futile. If it is not the father, it is the mother; if it is\nnot the grandmother, it is the grandfather; in fact, family influences\ncan always be traced to some source or other, if the whole pedigree\nmay be dug up and ransacked. But for that very reason they are of no\nscientific value whatever. They can neither be accounted for, nor can\nthey be used to account for anything themselves. Even of twins, though\nvery like each other in many respects, one may be phlegmatic, the\nother passionate. Some scientists, such as Weismann and others, have\ntherefore denied, and I believe rightly, that any acquired characters,\nwhether physical or mental, can ever be inherited by children from\ntheir parents. Whatever similarity there is, and there is plenty, is\ntraced back by him to what he calls the germ-plasm, working on\ncontinuously in spite of all individual changes. If that germ-plasm is\nliable to certain peculiar modifications in the father or grandfather,\nit is liable to the same or similar modifications in the offspring,\nthat is, if the father could become a drunkard, so could the son, only\nwe must not think that the _post hoc_ is here the same as the _propter\nhoc_. If we compare the germ-plasm to the molecules constituting the\nstem or branches of a vine, its grapes and leaves in their similarity\nand their variety would be comparable to the individuals belonging to\nthe same family, and springing from the same family tree. But then the\ngrape we see would not be what the grape of last year, or the grape\nimmediately preceding it on the same branch, had made it, though there\ncan be no doubt that the antecedent possibilities of the new grape\nwere the same as those of the last. If one grape is blue, the next\nwill be blue too, but no one would say that it was blue because the\nlast grape was blue. The real cause would be that the molecules of the\nprotoplasm have been so affected by long continued generation, that\nsome of the peculiar qualities of the vine have become constant.\n\nThe child of a negro must always be a negro; his peculiarities are\nconstant, though it may be quite true that the negro and other races\nare not different species, but only varieties rendered constant by\nimmense periods of time. What the cause of these constant and\ninconstant peculiarities may be, not even Weismann has yet been able\nto explain satisfactorily.\n\nThe deafness of my mother and the prevalence of the misfortune in\nnumerous members of her family acted on me as a kind of external\ninfluence, as something belonging to the environment of my life; it\nnever frightened me as an atavistic evil. It justified me in being\ncautious and in being prepared for the worst, and so far it may be\nsaid to have helped in shaping or narrowing the course of my life.\nFortunately, however, this tendency to deafness seems now to have\nexhausted itself. In my own generation there is one case only, and the\nnext two generations, children and grandchildren of mine, show no\nsigns of it. If, on the other hand, my son was congratulated when\nentering the diplomatic service, on being the son of his father, it is\nclear that the difference between inherited and acquired qualities, so\nstrongly insisted on by Weismann, had not been fully appreciated by\nhis friends. Besides, my own power of speaking foreign languages has\nalways been very limited, and I have many times declined the\ncompliment of being a second Mezzofanti.[5] I worked at languages as a\nmusician studies the nature and capacities of musical instruments,\nthough without attempting to perform on every one of them. There was\nno time left for acquiring a practical familiarity with languages, if\nI wanted to carry on my researches into the origin, the nature and\nhistory of language. My own study of languages could therefore have\nbeen of very little use to me, nor did my son himself perceive such an\nadvantage in learning to converse in French, Spanish, Turkish, &c. The\nfacts were wrong, and the theory of atavism perfectly unreasonable as\napplied to such a case.\n\n  [5] _Science of Language_, vol. i. p. 24 (1861).\n\nIf the theory of atavism were stretched so far, it would soon do away\nwith free will altogether. That heredity has something to do with our\nmoral character, no one would deny who knows the influence of our\nnational, nay even of racial character. We are Aryan by heredity; we\nmight be Negroes or Chinese, and share in their tendencies. Animals\nalso have their instincts. Only while animals, like serpents for\ninstance, would never hesitate to follow their innate propensity, man,\nwhen he feels the power of what we may call inherited human instinct,\nfeels also that he can fight against it, and preserve his freedom,\neven while wearing the chains of his slavery. This may have removed\nsome of Dr. Wendell Holmes\u2019 scruples in writing his powerful story,\n_Elsie Venner_, and may likewise quiet the fears of his many critics.\n\nI believe that language also\u2014our own inherited language\u2014exercises\nthe most powerful influence on our reason and our will, far more\npowerful than we are aware of.\n\nA Greek speaking Greek and a Roman speaking Latin would certainly have\nbeen very different beings from the Romance and French descendants of\na Horace or a Cicero, and this simply on account of the language which\nthey had to speak, whether Greek, Latin, French, or Spanish. We cannot\ntell whether the original differentiation of language, symbolized by\nthe story of the Tower of Babel, took place before or after the racial\ndifferentiation of men. Anyhow it must have taken place in quite\nprimordial times. Without speaking positively on this point, I\ncertainly hold as strongly as ever that language makes the man, and\nthat therefore for classificatory purposes also language is far more\nuseful than colour of skin, hair, cranial or gnathic peculiarities.\nWhether it be true that with every new language we speak we become\nnew men, certain it is that language prepares for us channels in which\nour thoughts have to run, unless they are so powerful as to break all\ndams and dykes, and to dig for themselves new beds.\n\nFor a long time people would not see that languages can be classified;\nand as languages always presuppose speakers of language, these\nspeakers also can be classified accordingly. It is quite true that\nsome of these Aryan speakers may in some cases have Negro blood and\nNegro features, as when a Negro becomes an English bishop. Conquered\ntribes also may in time have learnt to speak the language of their\nconquerors, but this too is exceptional, and if we call them Aryas, we\ndo not commit ourselves to any opinion as to their blood, their bones,\nor their hair. These will never submit to the same classification as\ntheir speech, and why should they? Nor should it be forgotten that\nwherever a mixture of language takes place, mixed marriages also would\nmost likely take place at the same time. But whatever confusion may\nhave arisen in later times in language and in blood, no language could\nhave arisen without speakers, and we mean by Aryas no more than\nspeakers of Aryan languages, whatever their skulls or their hair may\nhave been. An Octoroon, and even a Quadroon, may have blonde waving\nhair, but if he speaks English he would be classified as Aryan, if\nBerber as a Negro. But who is injured by such a classification? Let\nblood and skulls and hair and jaws be classified by all means, but let\nus speak no longer of Aryan skulls or Semitic blood. We might as well\nspeak of a prognathic language.\n\nWhile fully admitting, therefore, the influence which family,\nnationality, race, and language exercise on us, it should be clearly\nperceived that habits acquired by our parents are not heritable, that\nthe sons of drunkards need not be drunkards, as little as the sons of\nsober people must be sober. But though biographers may agree to this\nin general they seem inclined, to hold out very strongly for what are\ncalled _special talents in certain families_. This subject is\ndecidedly amusing, but it admits of no scientific treatment, as far as\nI can see.\n\nThe grandfather of Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy for instance, though\nnot a composer, was evidently a man of genius, a philosopher of\nconsiderable intellectual capacity and moral strength. The father of\nthe composer was a rich banker at Berlin, and he used to say: \u201cWhen I\nwas young I was the son of the great Mendelssohn, now that I am old, I\nam the father of the great Mendelssohn; then what am I?\u201d Even a poor\nman to become a rich banker must be a kind of genius, and so far the\nson may be said to have come of a good stock. But the great musical\ntalent that was developed in the third generation both in Felix and\nhis sisters, failed entirely in his brother, who, to save his life,\ncould never have sung \u201cGod save the Queen.\u201d In the little theatrical\nperformances of the whole family for which Felix composed the music,\nand his sister Fanny (Hensel) some of the songs, the unmusical\nbrother\u2014was it not Paul?\u2014had generally to be provided with some such\npart as that of a night watchman, and he managed to get through his\nsong with as much credit as the _Nachtw\u00e4chter_ in the little town of\nGermany, where he sang or repeated, as I well remember, in his cracked\nvoice:\n\n    \u201cH\u00f6rt, ihr Herren, und lasst euch sagen,\n     Die Glock\u2019 hat zw\u00f6lf geschlagen;\n     Wahret das Feuer und auch das Licht,\n     Dass Keinem kein Schade geschicht.\u201d\n\n    \u201cListen, gents, and let me tell,\n     The clock struck twelve by its last knell;\n     Watch o\u2019er the fire and o\u2019er the light\n     That no one suffer any plight.\u201d\n\nI have known in my life many musicians and their families, but I\nremember very few instances indeed, where the son of a distinguished\nmusician was a great musician himself. If the children take to music\nat all they may become very fair musicians, but never anything\nextraordinary. The Bach family may be quoted against me, but music,\nbefore Sebastian Bach, was almost like a profession, and could be\nlearned like any other handicraft.\n\nNor are the cases of painters being the sons of great painters, or of\npoets being the sons of great poets, more numerous. It seems almost as\nif the artistic talent was exhausted by one generation or one\nindividual, so that we often see the sons of great men by no means\ngreat, and if they do anything in the same line as their fathers, we\nmust remember that there was much to induce them to follow in their\nsteps without admitting any atavistic influences.\n\nFor the present, I can only repeat the conclusion I arrived at after\nweighing all the arguments of my friends and critics, namely, to\ncontinue my Recollections much as I began them, to try to explain what\nmade me what I am, to describe, in fact, my environment; though as my\nyears advance, and my labours and plans grow wider and wider, I shall,\nno doubt, have to say a great deal more about myself than in the\nvolumes of _Auld Lang Syne_. In fact, my Recollections will become\nmore and more of an autobiography, and the I and the Autos will appear\nmore frequently than I could have wished.\n\nIn an autobiography the painter is of course supposed to be the same\nas the sitter, but quite apart from the metaphysical difficulties of\nsuch a supposition, there is the physical difficulty when the writer\nis an old man, and the model is a young boy. Is the old man likely to\nbe a fair judge of the young man, whether it be himself or some one\nelse? As a rule, old men are very indulgent, while young men are apt\nto be stern and strict in their judgments. The very fact that they\noften invent excuses for themselves shows that they feel that they\nwant excuses. The words of the Preacher, vii. 16: \u201cBe not righteous\nover much; neither make thyself over wise: why shouldest thou destroy\nthyself? Be not over much wicked, neither be thou foolish: why\nshouldest thou die before thy time?\u201d are evidently the words of an old\nman when judging of himself or of others. A young man would have\nspoken differently. He would have made no allowance; for anything like\ncompassion for an erring friend is as yet unknown to him. In an\nautobiography written by an old man there is therefore a double\ndanger, first the indulgence of the old man, and secondly the kindly\nfeeling of the writer towards the object of his remarks.\n\nAll these difficulties stand before me like a mountain wall. And it\nseems better to confess at once that an old man writing his own life\ncan never be quite just, however honest he tries to be. He may be too\nindulgent, but he may also be too strict and stern. To say, for\ninstance, of a man that he has not kept his promise, would be a very\nserious charge if brought against anybody else. Yet my oldest friend\nin the world knows how many times he has made a promise to himself,\nand has not only not kept it but has actually found excuses why he did\nnot keep it. The more sensitive our conscience becomes, the more\nblameworthy many an act of our life seems to be, and what to an\nordinary conscience is no fault at all, becomes almost a sin under a\nfiercer light.\n\nThis changes the moral atmosphere of youth when painted by an old man,\nbut the physical atmosphere also assumes necessarily a different hue.\nWhether we like it or not, distance will always lend enchantment to\nthe view. If the azure hue is inseparable from distant mountains and\nfrom the distant sky, we need not wonder that it veils the distant\nparadise of youth. A man who keeps a diary from his earliest years,\nand who as an old man simply copies from its yellow pages, may give us\na very accurate black and white image of what he saw as a boy, but as\nin old faded photographs, the life and light are gone out of them,\nwhile unassisted memory may often preserve tints of their former\nreality. There is life and light in such recollections, but I am\nwilling to admit that memory can be very treacherous also. Thus in my\nown case I can vouch that whatever I relate is carefully and\naccurately transcribed from the tablets of my memory, as I see them\nnow, but though I can claim truthfulness to myself and to my memory, I\ncannot pretend to photographic accuracy. I feel indeed for the\nhistorian who uses such materials unless he has learnt to make\nallowance for the dim sight of even the most truthful narrators.\n\nI doubt whether any historian would accept a statement made thirty\nyears after the event without independent confirmation. I could not\ngive the date of the battle of Sadowa, though I well remember reading\nthe full account of it in the _Times_ from day to day. I can of\ncourse get at the date from historical books, and from that kind of\nartificial memory which arises by itself without any _memoria\ntechnica_. There is a favourite German game of cards called Sixty-six,\nand it was reported that when the French in 1870 shouted _\u00c0 Berlin_,\nthe then Crown-Prince who had won the battle of Sadowa, or K\u00f6niggr\u00e4tz,\nsaid: \u201cAh, they want another game of Sixty-six!\u201d that is they want a\nbattle like that of Sadowa. In this way I shall always remember the\ndate of that decisive battle. But I could not give the date of the\nCrimean battles nor a trustworthy account of the successive stages of\nthat war. I doubt whether even my old friend, Sir William H. Russell,\ncould do that now without referring to his letters in the _Times_.\nAfter thirty years no one, I believe, could take an oath to the\naccuracy of any statement of what he saw or heard so many years ago.\n\nAll then that I can vouch for is that I read my memory as I should the\nleaves of an old MS. from which many letters, nay, whole words and\nlines have vanished, and where I am often driven to decipher and to\nguess, as in a palimpsest, what the original uncial writing may have\nbeen. I am the first to confess that there may be flaws in my memory,\nthere may be before my eyes that magic azure which surrounds the\ndistant past; but I can promise that there shall be no invention, no\n_Dichtung_ instead of _Wahrheit_, but always, as far as in me lies,\ntruth. I know quite well that even a certain dislocation of facts is\nnot always to be avoided in an old memory. I know it from sad\nexperience. As the spires of a city\u2014of Oxford for instance\u2014arrange\nthemselves differently as we pass the old place on the railway, so\nthat now one and now the other stands in the centre and seems to rise\nabove the heads of the rest, so it is with our friends and\nacquaintances. Some who seemed giants at one time assume smaller\nproportions as others come into view towering above them. The whole\nscenery changes from year to year. Who does not remember the trees in\nour garden that seemed like giants in our childhood, but when we see\nthem again in our old age, they have shrunk, and not from old age\nonly?\n\nAnd must I make one more confession? It is well known that George the\nFourth described the battle of Waterloo so often that at last he\npersuaded himself that he had been present, in fact that he had won\nthat battle. I also remember Dr. Routh, the venerable president of\nMagdalen College, who died in his hundredth year, and who had so often\nrepeated all the circumstances of the execution of Charles I, that\nwhen Macaulay expressed a wish to see him, he declined \u201cbecause that\nyoung man has given quite a wrong account of the last moments of the\nking,\u201d which he then proceeded to relate, as if he had been an\neye-witness throughout.\n\nAre we not liable to the same hallucination, though, let us hope, in a\nmore mitigated form? Have we never told a story as if it were our\nown, not from any wish to deceive, but simply because it seemed\nshorter and easier to do so than to explain step by step how it\nreached us? And after doing that once or twice, is there not great\ndanger of our being surprised at somebody else claiming the story as\nhis own, or actually maintaining that it was he who told it to us?\n\nNot very long ago I remember reading in a journal a story of the Duke\nof Wellington. His servant had been sent before to order dinner for\nhim at an out-of-the-way hotel, and in order to impress the landlord\nwith the dignity of his coming guest, he had recited a number of the\nDuke\u2019s titles, which were very numerous. The landlord, thinking that\nthe Duke of Vittoria, the Prince of Waterloo, the Marquis of Torres\nVedras, and all the rest, were friends invited to dine with the Duke\nof Wellington, ordered accordingly a very sumptuous banquet to the\ngreat dismay of the real Duke. This may or may not be a very old and a\nvery true story; all I know is that much the same thing was told at\nOxford of Dr. Bull, who was Canon of Christ Church, Canon of Exeter,\nPrebendary of York, Vicar of Staverton, and lastly, the Rev. Dr. Bull\nhimself. Dinner was provided for each of these persons, and we are\ntold that the reverend pluralist had to eat all the dishes on the\ntable and pay for them. This also may have been no more than one of\nthe many \u201cCommon-roomers\u201d which abounded in Oxford when Common Rooms\nwere more frequented than they are now. But what I happen to know as a\nfact is that Dean Stanley received no less than four invitations to a\nhall at Blenheim, addressed A. P. Stanley, Esq., the Rev. A. P.\nStanley, Canon Stanley, Professor Stanley, all evidently copied from\nsome books of reference.\n\nI may perhaps claim one advantage in trying to describe what happened\nto myself in my passage through life. From the earliest days that I\ncan recollect, I felt myself as a twofold being\u2014as a subject and an\nobject, as a spectator and as an actor. I suppose we all talk to\nourselves, and say to our better and worse selves, O thou fool! or,\nWell done, my boy! Well this inward conversation began with me at a\nvery early time, and left the impression that I was the coachman, but\nat the same time the horse too which he drove and sometimes whipped\nvery cruelly. And this phase of thought, or rather this state of\nfeeling, seems soon to have led me on to another view which likewise\ndates from a very early time, though it afterwards vanished. As a\nlittle boy, when I could not have the same toys which other boys\npossessed, I could fully enjoy what they enjoyed, as if they had been\nmy own. There is a German phrase, \u201cIch freue mich in deiner Seele,\u201d\nwhich exactly expressed what I often felt. It was not the result of\nteaching, still less of reasoning\u2014it was a sentiment given me and\nwhich certainty did not leave me till much later in life, when\ncompetition, rivalry, jealousy, and envy seemed to accentuate my own I\nas against all other I\u2019s or Thou\u2019s. I suppose we all remember how the\nsight of a wound of a fellow creature, nay even of a dog, gives us a\nsharp twitch in the same part of our own body. That bodily sympathy\nhas never left me, I suffer from it even now as I did seventy years\nago. And is there anybody who has not felt his eyes moisten at the\nsudden happiness of his friends? All this seems to me to account, to a\ncertain extent at least, for that feeling of identity with so-called\nstrangers, which came to me from my earliest days, and has returned\nagain with renewed strength in my old age. The \u201cknow thyself,\u201d\nascribed to Chilon and other sages of ancient Greece, gains a deeper\nmeaning with every year, till at last the I which we looked upon as\nthe most certain and undoubted fact, vanishes from our grasp to become\nthe Self, free from the various accidents and limitations which make\nup the I, and therefore one with the Self that underlies all\nindividual and therefore vanishing I\u2019s. What that common Self may be\nis a question to be reserved for later times, though I may say at once\nthat the only true answer given to it seems to me that of the\nUpanishads and the Vedanta philosophy. Only we must take care not to\nmistake the moral Self, that finds fault with the active Self, for the\nHighest Self that knows no longer of good or evil deeds.\n\nLong before I had worked and thought out this problem as the\nfundamental truth of all philosophy, it presented itself to me as if\nby intuition, long before I could have fathomed it in its metaphysical\nmeaning. I had just heard of the death of a dear little child, and was\nstanding in our garden, looking at a rose-bush, covered in summer with\nhundreds of rose-buds and rose-flowers. While I was looking I broke\noff one small withered bud from the midst of a large cluster of roses,\nand after I had done so a question came to me, and I said to myself,\nWhat has happened? Is it only that one small bud is dead and gone, or\nhave not all the other roses been touched by the breath of death that\nfell on it? Have they not all suffered from the death of their sister,\nfor they all spring from the same stem, they all have their life from\nthe same source? And if one rose suffers, must not all the others\nsuffer with it? Then all the buds and flowers of the cluster seemed to\nme to become one, as it were a family of roses, and each single bud\nseemed but the repetition of the same thing, the manifestation of the\nsame thought, namely the thought of the rose. But my eyes were carried\nstill further, and the stem from which the bunch of roses sprang was\nlost with other stems in a branch, and it was that branch on which all\nthe roses of the branchlets and stems depended, and without which they\ncould not flower or exist. The single roses thus became identified\nwith the branch from which they had sprung, and by which they lived. I\nwondered more and more, and after another look all the branches with\nall their branchlets became absorbed in the stem, and the stem was the\ntree, and the tree sprang from a seed, or as it is now called, the\nprotoplasm; but beyond that seed there was nothing else that the eye\ncould see or the mind could grasp. And while this vision floated\nbefore my eyes I thought of my little friend, and the home from which\nshe had been broken off, and the same vision which had changed the\nrose-bush with all its flowers, and buds, and branchlets, and\nbranches, into a stem and a tree, and at last into one invisible germ\nand seed, seemed now to change my little friend and her brothers and\nsisters, her parents too and all her family, into one being which,\nlike an old oak tree, started from an invisible stem, or an invisible\nseed, or from an invisible thought, and that divine thought was man,\nas the other divine thought had been rose.\n\nPerhaps I did not see it so fully then as I see it now, and I\ncertainly did not reason about it. I simply felt that in the death of\nmy little friend, something of myself had gone, though she was no\nrelation, but only a stray human friend. We see many things as\nchildren which we cannot see as grown-up men and women, for, as\nLongfellow said, \u201cthe thoughts of youth are long long thoughts.\u201d Nay,\nI feel convinced that He who spoke the parable of the vine had seen\nthe same vision when He said: \u201cI am the vine, ye are the branches.\nAbide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself\nexcept it abide in the vine, no more can ye, except ye abide in Me.\u201d\nAnd it is on this vision, or this parable of the vine, that\nimmediately afterwards follows the lesson, \u201cLove one another, as I\nhave loved you.\u201d In loving one another we are in truth loving the\nothers as ourselves, as one with ourselves; and while we are loving\nHim who is the vine, we are loving the branches, ourselves\u2014aye, even\nour own little selves.\n\nSuch vague visions or intuitions often remain with us for life, but\nwhile they seem to be the same, they vary as we vary ourselves. We\nimagine we saw their deepest meaning from the first, but, like a\nparable, they gain in meaning every time they come back to us.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nCHILDHOOD AT DESSAU\n\n\nIn a small town such as Dessau was when I lived there as a child and\nas a boy, one lived as in an enchanted island. The horizon was very\nnarrow, and nothing happened to disturb the peace of the little oasis.\nThe Duchy was indeed a little oasis in the large desert of Central\nGermany. The landscape was beautiful: there were rivers small and\nlarge\u2014the Mulde and the Elbe; there were magnificent oak forests;\nthere were regiments of firs standing in regular columns like so many\ngrenadiers; there were parks such as one sees in England only. The\ntown, the capital of the Duchy of Anhalt-Dessau, had been cared for by\nsuccessive rulers\u2014men mostly far in advance of their time\u2014who had\nread and travelled, and brought home the best they could find abroad.\nTheir old castle, centuries old, over-awed the town; it was by far the\nlargest building, though there were several other smaller places in\nthe town for members of the ducal family. All the public buildings,\ntheatres, libraries, schools, and barracks, had been erected by the\nDukes, as well as several private residences intended for some of the\nhigher officials. The whole town was, in fact, the creation of the\nDukes; the whole ground on which it stood had been originally their\nproperty, but it was mostly held as freehold by those who had built\ntheir own private houses on it. No one would have built a house on\nleasehold land, and several of the houses were of so substantial a\ncharacter that one saw they had been intended to last for more than\nninety-nine years. The same family often remained in their house for\ngenerations, and the different stories were occupied by three\ngenerations at the same time\u2014by grandparents, parents, and children.\nIn this small town I was born on December 6, 1823. My father, Wilhelm\nM\u00fcller, was Librarian of the Ducal Library, and one of the most\npopular poets in Germany. A national monument was erected to his\nmemory at Dessau in the year 1891, nearly a hundred years after his\nbirth.\n\n  [Illustration: MY FATHER]\n\nWhat a blessing it would be if such a rule were followed with all\ngreat men, who seem so great at the time of their death, and who, a\nhundred years later, are almost forgotten, or at all events\nappreciated by a small number of admirers only. This Monument- and\nSociety-mania is indeed becoming very objectionable, for if for some\ntime there has been no room for tombs and statues in Westminster\nAbbey, there will soon be no room for them in the streets of London.\nThe result is that many of the people who walk along the Thames\nEmbankment, particularly foreigners, often ask, \u201cCur?\u201d when looking at\nthe human idols in bronze and marble put up there; while historians,\nremembering the really great men of England, would ask quite as often,\n\u201cCur non?\u201d There is a curious race of people, who, as soon as a man of\nany note dies, are ready to found anything for him\u2014a monument, a\npicture, a school, a prize, a society\u2014to keep alive his memory. Of\ncourse these societies want presidents, members of council,\ncommittees, secretaries, &c., and at last, subscriptions also. Thus it\nhas happened that the name of founder (_Gr\u00fcnder_) has assumed,\nparticularly in Germany, a perfume by no means sweet. Those who are\nasked to subscribe to such testimonials know how disagreeable it is to\ndecline to give at least their name, deeply as they feel that in\ngiving it they are offending against all the rules of historical\nperspective. I should not say that my father was one of the great\npoets of Germany, though Heine, no mean critic, declared that he\nplaced his lyric poetry next to that of Goethe. Besides, he was barely\nthirty-three when he died. He had been a favourite pupil of F. A.\nWolf, and had proved his classical scholarship by his _Homerische\nVorschule_, and other publications. His poems became popular in the\ntrue sense of the word, and there are some which the people in the\nstreet sing even now without being aware of the name of their author.\nSchubert\u2019s compositions also have contributed much to the wide\npopularity of his _Sch\u00f6ne M\u00fcllerin_ and his _Winterreise_, so that\nthough it might truly be said of him that he wanted no monument in\nbronze or stone, it seemed but natural that a small town like Dessau\nshould wish to honour itself by honouring the memory of one of its\nsons. In the company of Mendelssohn, the philosopher, and of F.\nSchneider, the composer, a monument of my father in the principal\nstreet of his native town, and before the school in which he had been\na pupil and a teacher, could hardly seem out of place. That the Greek\nParliament voted the Pentelican marble for the poet of the\n_Griechenlieder_, as it had done for Lord Byron, was another\ninducement for his fellow citizens to do honour to their honoured\npoet. He died when I was hardly four years old, so that my\nrecollection of him is very faint and vague, made up, I believe, to a\ngreat extent, of pictures, and things that my mother told me. I seem\nto remember him as a bright, sunny, and thoroughly joyful man,\ndelighted with our little naughtinesses. One book I still possess\nwhich he bought for me and which was to be the first book of my\nlibrary. It was a small volume of Horace, printed by Pickering in\n1820. It has now almost vanished among the 12,000 big volumes that\nform my library, but I am delighted that I am still able, at\nseventy-six, to read it without spectacles. I think I remember my\nfather taking my sister and me on his knees, and telling us the most\ndelightful stories, that set us wondering and laughing and crying till\nwe could laugh and cry no longer. He had been a fellow worker with the\nbrothers Grimm, and the stories he told were mostly from their\ncollection, though he knew how to embellish them with anything that\ncould make a child cry and laugh.\n\nPeople have little idea how great and how lasting an influence such\npopular stories about kings and queens, and princesses and knights,\nabout ogres and witches, about men that have been changed into\nanimals, and about animals that talk and behave like human beings,\nexercise on the imagination of young children. While we listened, a\nnew world seemed to open before us, and anything like doubt as to the\nreality of these beings never existed. What was reality or unreality\nto young children of four and five? How few people know what real\nreality is, even after they have reached the age of fifty or sixty.\nFor children, such names as reality and unreality do not exist, nor\nthe ideas which they express. They listen to what their father tells\nthem, and they cannot see any difference between what he tells them of\nFrederick Barbarossa, of Romulus and Remus suckled by a wolf, or of\nthe dwarfs that guarded the coffin of Schneewittchen.\n\nSome people, however, have thought that from an educational point of\nview, a belief in this imaginary world must be mischievous. I doubt\nit, and it would be easy to show that originally these stories and\nfables were really meant to inculcate right and good principles.\nLuther declared that he would not lose these wonderful stories of his\ntender childhood for any sum of money, and Camerarius (_Fabulae\nAesopeae_, p. 406, Lipsiae, 1570) speaks of these German fables as\nfilling the minds of the people, and particularly of children, with\nterror, hope, and religion. The oldest collections in which some of\nthese Aesopean fables occur, the Pantschatantra and Hitopadesa in\nSanskrit, were distinctly intended for the education of princes, and\nthough they may make the young listeners inclined to be superstitious,\nsuch superstitiousness is not likely to last long. Children delight in\n_M\u00e4rchen_ as in a kind of pantomime, and when the curtain has fallen\non that fairy world they often think of it as of a beautiful dream\nthat has passed away. The stories are certainly more impressive than\nthe proverbs and wise saws which many of them were meant to\nillustrate, without always saying, _haec fabula docet_. Even if some\nof these stories touch sometimes on what may not seem to us quite\ncorrect, it is done to make children laugh rather at the silliness\nthan cry at the downright wickedness of some of the heroes. It is by\nno means uncommon, for instance, that a good-for-nothing fellow\nsucceeds, while his virtuous companions fail. But there is either a\nreason for it, or the injustice provokes the indignation of children,\nlong before they have learnt that in real life also virtue does not\nalways receive its reward, while falsehood often prospers, at least\nfor a time. There is no harm, I think, in a certain dreaminess in\nchildren. I remember that I have often laughed with all my heart at\nRumpelstilzchen, and shed bitter tears at Br\u00fcderchen and\nSchwesterchen. I seemed to see brother and sister driven into the\nwood, the brother being changed into a deer, and the sister sleeping\nwith her head on his warm fur, till at last the deer was killed by a\nhuntsman, and the little sister had to travel on quite alone in the\nforest. Of course in the end she became a princess, and the brother a\nprince who married a queen, and all ended in great joy and jubilation\nin which we all joined. How good for children that they should for a\ntime at least have lived in such a dreamland, in which truthfulness\nwas as a rule rewarded, and falsehood punished in the end.\n\nIt was like a recollection of a Paradise, and such a recollection,\neven if it brought out the contrast between the dream-world and the\nreal world, would often set children musing on what ought and what\nought not to be. They did not long believe in Dornr\u00f6schen and\nSchneewittchen, they learnt but too soon that Dornr\u00f6schen and\nSchneewittchen belonged to another world. They may even have come to\nlearn that Dornr\u00f6schen (thorn-rose) and Schneewittchen (snow-white)\nwere meant originally for the sleep or death of nature in her\nsnow-white shroud, and the return of the sun; but woe to the boy who\non first learning these stories should have declared that they were\nmere bosh, or, as Sir Walter Scott says, the detritus of nature-myths.\n\nMy father\u2019s father, whom I never knew, seems not to have been\ndistinguished in any way. He was, however, a useful tradesman and a\nrespected citizen of Dessau, and, as I see, the founder of the first\nlending library in that small town. He married a second time, a rich\nwidow, chiefly, as I was told, to enable him to give his son, my\nfather, a liberal education. She grew to be very old, and I well\nremember her, to me, forbidding and terrifying appearance. She quite\nbelonged to a past generation, and when I saw her again after having\nbeen in England, she asked me whether I had seen Napoleon who had been\ntaken prisoner and sent to England, but had lately escaped and resumed\nhis throne in Paris. She evidently mixed up the two Napoleons, and I\ndid not contradict her. To me her conversation was interesting as\nshowing how little the traditions of the people can be relied on, and\nhow easily, by the side of real history, a popular history could grow\nup. After all, the poems of Charlemagne besieging Jerusalem owed their\norigin very likely to some similar confusion in the minds of old\nwomen. My sister and I were always terrified when we were sent to\nvisit her, for with her dishevelled grey hair, her thin white face,\nand her piercing eyes, she was to us the old grandmother, or the witch\nof Grimm\u2019s stories; and the language she used was such that, if we\nrepeated it at home, we were severely reprimanded. She knew very\nlittle about my father, but her memory about her first husband and\nabout her own youth and childhood was very clear, though not always\nedifying. Her stories about ghosts, witches, ogres, nickers, and the\nwhole of that race were certainly enough to frighten a child, and some\nof them clung to me for a very long time. On my mother\u2019s side my\nrelations were more civilized, and they had but little social\nintercourse with my grandmother and her relatives. My mother\u2019s father\nwas von Basedow, the President, that is Prime Minister of the Duchy of\nAnhalt-Dessau, a position in which he was succeeded by his eldest son,\nmy uncle. He was the first man in the town; the Duke and he really\nruled the Duchy exactly as they pleased. There was no check on them of\nany kind, and yet no one, as far as I know, ever complained of any\ntyranny. My grandfather\u2019s father again was the famous reformer of\npublic education in Germany. He (1723-1790) had to brave the\nconservative and clerical parties throughout the country. His home at\nHamburg was burnt in a riot, and it was then that he migrated to\nDessau, to become the founder of the _Philanthropinum_, and at the\nsame time the path-breaker for men such as Pestalozzi (1746-1827) and\nFroebel (1782-1852). Considering his lifelong struggles, he deserved a\nbetter monument at Dessau than he has found there. No doubt he was a\npassionate and violent man, and his outbreaks are still remembered at\nDessau, while his beneficial activity has almost been forgotten. I was\noften told that I took after my mother\u2019s family, whatever that may\nmean, and this was certainly the case in outward appearance, though I\nhope not in temper. My great grandfather, the Pedagogue as he was\ncalled, was a friend of Goethe\u2019s, and is mentioned in his poems.\n\nMy childhood at home was often very sad. My mother, who was left a\nwidow at twenty-eight with two children, my sister and myself, was\nheart-broken. The few years of her married life had been most bright\nand brilliant. My father was a rising poet, and such was his\npopularity that he was able to indulge his tastes as he liked, whether\nin travelling or in making his house a pleasant centre of social life.\nContemporaries and friends of my father, particularly Baron Simolin, a\nvery intimate friend, who spent the Christmas of 1825 in our house,\nhave written of the bright gaiety, the whole-hearted enjoyment of life\nthat reigned there, and have told how, though his income was to say\nthe least of it small, Wilhelm M\u00fcller\u2019s home was the rallying-point\nfor all the cultivated, scientific, and artistic society of Dessau,\nwho felt attracted by the simple and unaffected yet truly genial\ndisposition of the master of the house.\n\nIt would be interesting to know how much an author could make at that\ntime by his pen. Publishers seem to have been far more liberal then\nthan they are now. The circumstances were different. The number of\nwriters was of course much smaller, and the sale of really popular\nbooks probably much larger. Anyhow, my father, whose salary was\nminute, seems to have been able to enjoy the few years of his married\nlife in great comfort. The thought of saving money, however, seems\nnever to have entered his poetical mind, and after his unexpected\ndeath, due to paralysis of the heart, it was found that hardly any\nprovision had been made for his family. Even the life insurance, which\nis obligatory on every civil servant, and the pension granted by the\nDuke, gave my mother but a very small income, fabulously small, when\none considers that she had to bring up two children on it. It has been\na riddle to me ever since how she was able to do it.\n\nHowever, it was done, and could only have been done in a small town\nlike Dessau, where education was as good as it was cheap, and where\nvery little was expected by society. We must also take into account\nthe very low prices which then ruled at Dessau with regard to almost\nall the necessaries of life. I see from the old newspapers that beef\nsold at about threepence a pound (two groschen), mutton at about\ntwopence. Wine was sold at seven to eight groschen a bottle, a better\nsort for twelve to fourteen groschen\u2014a groschen being about a penny.\nPeople drank mostly beer, and this was sold under Government\ninspection at two to three groschen per quart. Fish was equally cheap,\nand such, at the beginning of the century, was the abundance of salmon\ncaught in the Elbe, and even in the Mulde at Dessau, that it was\nstipulated as in Scotland, that servants should not have salmon more\nthan twice or thrice in the week. The lowest price for salmon was\nthen twopence halfpenny a pound. As a boy I can remember seeing the\nsalmon in large numbers leap over a weir in the very town of Dessau,\nand though they had travelled for so many miles inland, the fish was\nvery good, though not so good as Severn salmon. Game also was very\ncheap, and sold for not much more than mutton, nay, at certain times\nit was given away; it could not be exported. Corn was sold at three\nshillings per _Scheffel_, and by corn was chiefly meant rye. No one\ntook wheaten bread, and the bread was therefore called brown bread and\nblack bread. White bread was only taken with coffee, and peasants in\nthe villages would not have touched it, because it was not supposed to\nmake such strong bones as rye-bread. With such prices we can\nunderstand that a salary of \u00a3300 was considered sufficient for the\nhighest officers of state.\n\nMy mother\u2019s relations, who were all high in the public service, my\ngrandfather, as I said, being the Duke\u2019s chief minister, made life\nmore easy and pleasant for us; but for many years my mother never went\ninto society, and our society consisted of members of our own family\nonly. All I remember of my mother at that time was that she took her\ntwo children day after day to the beautiful _Gottesacker_ (God\u2019s\nAcre), where she stood for hours at our father\u2019s grave, and sobbed and\ncried. It was a beautiful and restful place, covered with old acacia\ntrees. The inscription over the gateway was one of my earliest\npuzzles. _Tod ist nicht Tod, ist nur Veredlung menschlicher Natur_\n(Death is not death, \u2019tis but the ennobling of man\u2019s nature). On each\nside there stood a figure, representing the genius of sleep and the\ngenius of death. All this was the work of the old Duke, Leopold\nFriedrich Franz, who tried to educate his people as he had educated\nhimself, partly by travel, partly by intercourse with the best men he\ncould attract to Dessau.\n\n  [Illustration: MY MOTHER]\n\nAt home the atmosphere was certainly depressing to a boy. I heard and\nthought more about death than about life, though I knew little of\ncourse of what life or death meant. I had but few pleasures, and my\nchief happiness was to be with my mother. I shared her grief without\nunderstanding much about it. She was passionately devoted to her\nchildren, and I was passionately fond of her. What there was left of\nlife to her, she gave to us, she lived for us only, and tried very\nhard not to deprive our childhood of all brightness. She was certainly\nmost beautiful, and quite different from all other ladies at Dessau,\nnot only in the eyes of her son, but as it seemed to me, of everybody.\nThen she had a most perfect voice, and when I first began music she\nhelped and encouraged me in every possible way. We played _\u00e0 quatre\nmains_, and soon she made me accompany her when she sang. As far as I\ncan recollect, I was never so happy as when I could be with her. She\nread so much to us that I was quite satisfied, and saw perhaps less of\nmy young friends than I ought. When my mother said she wished to\ndie, and to be with our father, I feel sure that my sister and I were\nonly anxious that she should take us with her, for there were few\ngolden chains that bound us as yet to this life. I see her now,\nsitting on a winter\u2019s evening near the warm stove, a candle on the\ntable, and a book from which she read to us in her hands, while the\nspinning-wheel worked by the servant-maid in the corner went on\nhumming all the time. She read Paul Gerhard\u2019s translation of St.\nBernard\u2019s:\n\n    \u201cSalve caput cruentatum,\n     Totum spinis coronatum,\n     Conquassatum, vulneratum,\n     Arundine verberatum,\n     Facies sputis illita.\u201d\n\n    \u201cO Haupt voll Blut und Wunden,\n     Voll Schmerz und voller Hohn!\n     O Haupt zu Spott gebunden\n     Mit einer Dornenkron,\n     O Haupt sonst sch\u00f6n gezieret\n     Mit h\u00f6chster Ehr und Zier,\n     Jetzt aber hoch schimpfiret:\n     Gegr\u00fcsset seist du mir!\u201d\n\nThough the German translation does not come near the powerful majesty\nof the original, yet such was the effect produced on me that I saw the\nbleeding head before my eyes, and cried and cried until my mother had\nto comfort me by assuring me that the sufferer was now in Heaven and\nthat it was only a song to be sung in church. How deeply such scenes\nseem engraved on the memory; how vividly they return when the rubbish\nof many years is swept away and all is again as it was then, and the\n_caput cruentatum_ looks down on us once more, as it did then, with\nthe human eyes full of divine love, so truly human that one could say\nwith St. Bernard, \u201cTuum caput huc inclina, in meis pausa brachiis.\u201d\nBut willingly as I listened to these readings at home, and full as my\nheart was of love to Christ, I suffered intensely when I was taken to\nchurch as a young boy. It was a very large church, and in winter\nbitterly cold. Even though I liked the singing, the long sermon was\nreal torture to me. I could not understand a word of it, and being\nthinly clad my teeth would have chattered if I had not been told that\nit was wrong \u201cto make a noise in church.\u201d Oh! what misery is inflicted\non childhood by this enforced attendance at church. When a church can\nbe warmed the suffering is less intense, but a huge whitewashed church\nthat feels like an ice-cellar is about the worst torture that human\ningenuity could have invented to make children hate the very name of\nchurch. These early impressions often remain for life, and the worst\nof it is that the idea remains in the minds of children, and of\ngrown-up people too, that by going to church and repeating the same\nprayers over and over again, and listening to long and often dreary\nsermons, they are actually doing a service to God (_Gottesdienst_).\nWhy does no new prophet arise and say in the name of God, as David did\nin the name of Jehovah, \u201cSermons and long prayers \u2018thou didst not\ndesire\u2019\u201d?\n\nMany years later I had to discuss the same question with Keshub\nChunder Sen, the Indian Reformer. He wanted to know what kind of\nservice should be adopted by his new church, the Brahmo Somaj; his\nfriends thought of sermons, singing, and processions with flags and\nflowers through the streets. \u201cNo,\u201d I said to him, \u201cservice of God\nshould be service of men; if you want divine service, let it be a real\nservice, such as God would approve of. Let other people go to church,\nto their mosques or their temples, but take you your own friends on\ncertain days of the week to whatever you like to call your\nmeeting-place, and after a short prayer or a few words of advice send\nsome of them to the poorest streets in the city, others to the\nprisons, others to the hospitals. Let them pray with all who wish to\npray, but let them speak words of true love and comfort also, and when\nthey can, let them help them with their alms. That would be a real\nDivine Service and a divine Sunday for you, and you would all come\nhome, it may be sadder, but certainly wiser and better men.\u201d\n\nI am afraid he did not agree with me. He did not think that true\nreligion was to visit the poor and the afflicted. That might do for a\npractical people like the English, but the Hindu wanted something\nelse, he wanted some outward show and ceremony for the people, and at\nthe same time some silent communion with God. Who can tell what\ndifferent people understand by religion? and who can prescribe the\nspiritual food that is best for them? \u201cOnly,\u201d I said, \u201cdo not call it\npractical to encourage millions of people to waste hours and hours in\nmere repetition, and to spend millions and millions in supplying this\ncold comfort, when next door to the magnificent cathedral there are\nsqualid streets, and squalid houses, and squalid beds to lie and die\non.\u201d\n\nThe religious and devotional element is very strong in Germany, but\nthe churches are mostly empty. A German keeps his religion for\nweekdays rather than for Sunday. When the German regiments marched,\nand when they made ready for battle, they did not sing ribald songs,\nthey sang the songs of Luther and Paul Gerhard, which they knew by\nheart and which strengthened them to face death as it ought to be\nfaced.\n\nFortunately, while enforced attendance at church was apt to produce\nthe strongest aversion in the young heart against anything that was\ncalled religion, religious instruction both at home and at school too\nwas excellent, and undid much of the mischief that had been done\nduring cold winter days. True religious sentiments can be planted in\nthe soul at home only, by a mother better even than by a father. The\nsense of a divine presence everywhere, \u03c0\u1f01\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1 \u03c0\u03bb\u1f21\u03c1\u03b7 \u03b8\u03b5\u1f61\u03bd, once planted\nin the heart of a child remains for life. Of course the child soon\nbegins to argue, and says to his mother that God cannot be at the same\ntime in two rooms. But only let a mother show to the child the rays of\nthe sun in the sky, in the streets, and in every corner of the house,\nand it will begin to understand that nothing can be hid from the eyes\nof Him who is greater than the sun. And when a child doubts whether\nthe voice of conscience can be the voice of God, and asks how he could\nhear that voice without seeing the speaker, ask him only whose voice\nit can be that tells him not to do what he himself wishes to do, and\nnot to say what he could say without any fear of men; and his idea of\nGod will be raised from that of a visible being like the sun, to the\nconcept of a presence that never vanishes, that is not only without,\nin the sky, in the mountains, and in the storm, but nearer also\nwithin, in the sense of fear, in the sense of shame, and in the hope\nof pardon and love.\n\nAt school our religious teaching was chiefly historical and moral.\nThere was no difficulty in finding proper teachers for that, and there\nwere no attempts on the part of parents to interfere with religious\ninstruction or to demand separate teaching for each sect. It is true\nthat religious sects are not so numerous in Germany as they are in\nEngland. Some, though by no means all, children of Roman Catholic and\nJewish parents were allowed to be absent from religious lessons. But\nmost parents knew that the history of the Jewish religion would be\ntaught at school in so impartial and truly historical a spirit as\nnever to offend Jewish children. Respect for historical truth, and an\nimplanted sense of the reverence due to children, would keep any\nteacher from making the history of the Christian Church, whether\nbefore or after the Reformation, an excuse for offending one of the\nlittle ones committed to his care. If Jews or Roman Catholics wished\nfor any special religious instruction it was given by their own\npriests or Rabbis, and was given without any interference on the part\nof the Government. But such was at my time the state of public feeling\nthat I hardly knew at school who among my young friends were Roman\nCatholics, or Lutherans, or Reformed. I must admit, however, that the\nvery name of Luther might have offended Roman Catholics. He was\nrepresented to us as a perfect saint, almost as inspired and\ninfallible. His hymns sung in church seemed to us little different\nfrom the Psalms of David, and I well remember what a shock it gave me\nwhen at Oxford, much later in life, I heard Luther spoken of like any\nother mortal, nay, as a heretic, and a most dangerous heretic too.\nWhen I was a boy I remember that in some places the same building had\nto be used for Protestant and Roman Catholic services. All that, I am\nafraid, is now changed, and the old liberal and tolerant feeling then\nprevailing on all sides is now often stigmatized as indifference, and\nby other ugly names. It should really be called the golden age of\nChristianity, and this so-called indifference should be classed among\nthe highest Christian virtues, and as the fullest realization of the\nspirit of Christ.\n\nThus we grew up from our earliest youth, being taught to look upon\nChristianity as an historical fact, on Christ and His disciples as\nhistorical characters, on the Old and New Testaments as real\nhistorical books. Though we did not understand as yet the deeper\nmeaning of Christ and of His words, we had at least nothing to unlearn\nin later times, or to feel that our parents had ever told us what they\nthemselves could not have held to be true. Our simple faith was not\nshaken by mere questions of criticism, or by the problem how any human\nbeing could take upon himself to declare any book to be revealed,\nunless he claimed for himself a more than human insight. The simplest\nrules of logic should make such a declaration impossible, whatever the\nsacred book may be to which it is applied. Granted that the Pope was\ninfallible, how could the Cardinals know that he was, unless they\nclaimed for themselves the same or even greater infallibility? It is\nfar more easy to be inspired than to know some one else is or was\ninspired; the true inspiration is, and always has been, the spirit of\ntruth within, and this is but another name for the spirit of God. It\nis truth that makes inspiration, not inspiration that makes truth.\nWhoever knows what truth is, knows also what inspiration is: not only\n_theopneustos_, blown into the soul by God, but the very voice of God,\nthe real presence of God, the only presence in which we, as human\nbeings, can ever perceive Him.\n\nHow often have I in later life tried to explain this to my friends in\nFrance and in England who endured mental agonies before they could\narrive at the simple conclusion that revelation can never be\nobjective, but must always be subjective. I may return to this\nquestion at a later period of my life, when I had to discuss with\nRenan, at Paris, with Froude, Kingsley, and Liddon, in England, and\ntried to show how entirely self-made some of their difficulties were.\nAt present I have only to explain how it was that I had never to\nextricate myself from a net in which so many honest thinkers find\nthemselves entangled without any fault of their own; as Samson, when\nhe awoke, found himself bound with seven green withs and had to break\nthem with all his might before he could hope to escape from the\nPhilistines. The Philistines never bound me. During my early\nschool-days these difficulties did not exist, but I have often been\ngrateful in after life that the seven locks of my head have never been\nwoven with the web.\n\nI remember a number of small events in my school-life at Dessau, but\nthough they were full of interest to me, nay, full of meaning, and not\nwithout an influence on my later life, they would have no meaning and\nno interest for others, and may remain as if they had never been. The\ninfluence which music exercised on my mind, and, I believe, on my\nheart also, I have related in my _Musical Recollections_. The image of\nthose passing years, though its general tone was melancholy, chiefly\nowing to my mother\u2019s melancholy, seemed to me at the time free from\nall unhappiness. My work at school and at home was not too heavy; I\nwas fond of it, and very fond of books. Books were scarce then, and\nwhoever possessed a new and valuable book was expected to lend it to\nhis friends in the little town. If a man was known to possess, say,\nGoethe\u2019s works or Jean Paul\u2019s works, the consequence was that one went\nto him or to her to ask for the loan of them. And not only books, but\npaper and pens also were scarce. The first steel pens came in when I\nwas still in the lower school, and bad as they were they were looked\nupon as real treasures by the schoolboys who possessed them. Paper was\nso dear that one had to be very sparing in its use. Every margin and\ncover was scribbled over before it was thrown away, and I felt often\nso hampered by the scarcity of paper that I gladly accepted a set of\ncopybooks instead of any other present that I might have asked for on\nmy birthday or at Christmas. I am sorry to say I have had to suffer\nall my life from the inefficiency of our writing master, or maybe from\nthe fact that my thoughts were too quick for my pen. In other subjects\nI did well, but though I was among the first in each class, I was by\nno means cleverer than other boys. In the lower school work was more\nlike conversation or like hearing news from our teachers. The idea of\neffort did not yet exist. The drudgery began, however, when I entered\nthe upper school, the gymnasium, and learnt the elements of Latin and\nGreek. Though our teachers were very conscientious, they tried to make\nour work no burden to us, and the constant change of places in each\nclass kept up a lively rivalry among the boys, though I am not sure\nthat it did not make me rather ambitious and at times conceited.\nStill, I had few enemies, and it seemed of much more consequence who\ncould knock down another boy than who could gain a place above him. I\nfeel sure I could have done a great deal more at school than I did,\nbut it was partly my music and partly my incessant headaches that\ninterfered with my school work.\n\nI remember as a boy that certain streets were inhabited exclusively by\nJewish families. A large number of Jews had been received at Dessau by\na former Duke; but though he granted them leave to settle at Dessau\nwhen they were persecuted in other parts of Germany, he stipulated\nthat they should only settle in certain streets. These streets were by\nno means the worst streets of the town; on the contrary they showed\ngreater comfort and hardly any of the squalor which disgraced the\nJewish quarters in other towns in Germany. As children we were brought\nup without any prejudice against the Jews, though we had, no doubt, a\ncertain feeling that they were tolerated only, and were not quite on\nthe same level with ourselves. We also felt the religious difficulty\nsometimes very strongly. Were not the Jews the murderers of Christ?\nand had they not said: \u201cthe blood be on us and on our children\u201d? But\nas we were told that it was wrong to harbour feelings of revenge, we\nboys soon forgot and forgave, and played together as the best friends.\nI remember picking up a number of Jewish words which would not have\nbeen understood anywhere else. I was hardly aware that they were\nJewish and used them like any other words. But I once gave great\noffence to my friend Professor Bernays, who was a Jew. He had uttered\nsome quite incredible statement, and I exclaimed, \u201cSind Sie denn ganz\nmaschukke?\u201d\u2014Hebrew for \u201cmad.\u201d I meant no harm, but he was very much\nhurt.\n\nI knew several Jewish families, and received much kindness from them\nas a boy. Many of these families were wealthy, but they never\ndisplayed their wealth, and in consequence excited no envy. All that\nis changed now. The children of the Jews who formerly lived in a very\nquiet style at Dessau, now occupy the best houses, indulge in most\nexpensive tastes, and try in every way to outshine their non-Jewish\nneighbours. They buy themselves titles, and, when they can, stipulate\nfor stars and orders as rewards for successful financial operations,\ncarried out with the money of princely personages. Hence the\nrevulsion of feeling all over Germany, or what is called\nAnti-Semitism, which has assumed not only a social but a political\nsignificance. I doubt whether there is anything religious in it, as\nthere was when we were boys. The Anti-Semitic hatred is the hatred of\nmoney-making, more particularly of that kind of money-making which\nrequires no hard work, but only a large capital to begin with, and\nboldness and astuteness in speculating, that is in buying and selling\nat the right moment. The sinews of war for that kind of financial\nwarfare were mostly supplied by the fathers and grandfathers of the\npresent generation. Sometimes, no doubt, the capital was lost, and in\nthose cases it must be said that the Jewish speculator disappears from\nthe stage without a sigh or a cry. He begins again, and if he should\nhave to do what his grandfather did, walk from house to house with a\nbag on his back, he does not whine.\n\nOne cannot blame the Jews or any other speculators for using their\nopportunities, but they must not complain either if they excite envy,\nand if that envy assumes in the end a dangerous character. The Jews,\nso far from suffering from disabilities, enjoy really certain\nprivileges over their Christian competitors in Germany. They belong to\na _regnum_, but also to a _regnum in regno_. They have, so to say, our\nSunday and likewise their Sabbath. Jew will always help Jew against a\nChristian; and again who can blame them for that? All one can say is\nthat they should not complain of their unpopularity, but take into\naccount the risk they are running. No one hated the Jews such as they\nwere in Dessau fifty years ago. They had their own schools and\nsynagogues, and no one interfered with them when they built their\nbowers in the streets at the time of their Feast of Tabernacles, and\nlived, feasted, and slept in them to keep up the memory of their\nsojourning in the desert. They indulged in even more offensive\npractices, such as, for instance, putting three stones in the coffins\nto be thrown by the dead at the Virgin Mary, her husband, and their\nSon. No one suspected or accused them of kidnapping Christian\nchildren, or offering sacrifices with their blood. They were known too\nwell for that. Conversions of Jews were not infrequent, and converted\nJews were not persecuted by their former co-religionists as they are\nnow. Even marriages between Christians and Jews were by no means\nuncommon, particularly when the young Jewesses were beautiful or rich,\nstill better if they were both. Disgraceful as the Anti-Semitic riots\nhave been in Germany and Russia, there can be no doubt that in this as\nin most cases both sides were to blame, and there is little prospect\nof peace being re-established till many more heads have been broken.\n\nWhat helped very much to keep the peace in the small town of Dessau,\nas it did all over Germany, nay, all over the world, till about the\nyear 1848, was the small number of newspapers. In my childhood and\nyouth their number was very small. In Dessau I only knew of one, which\nwas then called the _Wochenblatt_, afterwards the _Staatsanzeiger_. At\nthat time newspapers were really read for the news which they\ncontained, not for leading or misleading articles and all the rest.\nWhat a happy time it was when a newspaper consisted of a sheet, or\nhalf a sheet in quarto, with short paragraphs about actual events,\nwhich had often taken place weeks and months before. A battle might\nhave been fought in Spain or Turkey, in India or China, and no one\nknew of it till some official information was vouchsafed by the\nrespective Governments or by Jewish bankers. War-correspondents or\nregular reporters did not exist, and the old telegraphic dispatches\nwere sent by wooden telegraphs fixed on high towers, which from a\ndistance looked like gallows on which a criminal was hanging and\ngesticulating with arms and feet. Anybody who watched these signals\ncould decipher them far more easily than a hieroglyphic inscription.\n\nThe peace of Europe, nay, of the whole world, was then in the keeping\nof sovereigns and their ministers, and Prince Metternich might\ncertainly take some credit for having kept what he called the Thirty\nYears\u2019 Peace. Shall we ever, as long as there are newspapers, have\npeace again\u2014peace between the great nations of the world, and peace\nat home between contending parties, and peace in our mornings at home\nwhich are now so ruthlessly broken in upon, nay, swallowed up by\nthose paper-giants, most unwelcome yet irresistible callers, just when\nwe want to settle down to a quiet day\u2019s work? It is no use protesting\nagainst the inevitable, nor can we quite agree with those who maintain\nthat no newspaper carries the slightest weight or exercises the\nsmallest influence on home or foreign politics. A very influential\nstatesman and wise thinker used to say that we should never have had\nChristianity if newspapers had existed at the time of Augustus. When\nunsuccessful _litt\u00e9rateurs_ or bankrupt bankers\u2019 clerks were the chief\ncontributors to the newspapers, their influence might have been small;\nbut when Bismarcks turned journalists, and Gortchakoffs prompted,\nnewspapers could hardly be called _quantit\u00e9s n\u00e9gligeables_.\n\nThe horizon of Dessau was very narrow, but within its bounds there was\na busy and happy life. Everybody did his work honestly and\nconscientiously. There were, of course, two classes, the educated and\nthe uneducated. The educated consisted of the members of the\nGovernment service, the clergy, the schoolmasters, doctors, artists,\nand officers; the uneducated were the tradesmen, mechanics, and\nlabourers. The trade was mostly in the hands of Jews, it had become\nalmost a Jewish monopoly. When one of these tradesmen went bankrupt,\nthere was a commotion over the whole town, and I remember being taken\nto see one of these bankrupt shops, expecting to find the whole house\nbroken up and demolished, and being surprised to see the tradesman\nstanding whole, and sound, and smiling, in his accustomed place. My\netymological tastes must have developed very early, for I had asked\nwhy this poor Jew was called a bankrupt, and had been duly informed\nthat it was because his bank had been broken, _banca rotta_, which of\ncourse I took in a literal sense, and expected to see all the\nfurniture broken to pieces. The commercial relations of our Dessau\ntradesmen did not extend much beyond Leipzig, Berlin, possibly Hamburg\nand Cologne. If a burgher of Dessau travelled to these or to more\ndistant parts the whole town knew of it and talked about it, whereas a\njourney to Paris or London was an event worthy to be mentioned and\ndiscussed in the newspapers. These old newspapers are full of curious\ninformation. We find that if a person wished to travel to Cologne or\nfurther, he advertised for a companion, and it was for the Burgomaster\nto make the necessary arrangements for him.\n\nFrench was studied and spoken, particularly at Court, but English was\na rare acquirement, still more Italian or Spanish. There was, however,\na small inner circle where these languages were studied, chiefly in\norder to read the master-works of modern literature. And this was all\nthe more creditable because there were no good teachers to be found at\nDessau, and people had to learn what they wished to learn by\nthemselves, with the help of a grammar and dictionary. We learnt\nFrench at school, but the result was deplorable. As in all public\nschools, the French master who had to teach the language at the Ducal\nGymnasium could not keep order among the boys. He of course spoke\nFrench, but that was all. He did not know how to teach, and could not\nexcite any interest in the boys, who insisted on pronouncing French as\nif it were German. The poor man\u2019s life was made a burden to him. His\nname was Noel, and he had all the pleasing manners of a Frenchman, but\nthat served only to rouse the antagonism of the young barbarians. The\nresult was that we learnt very little, and I was sent to an old Jew to\nlearn French and a little English. That old Jew, called Levy Rubens,\nwas a perfect gentleman. He probably had been a commercial traveller\nin his early days, though no one knew exactly where he came from or\nhow he had learnt languages. He had taught my father and grandfather\nand he was delighted to teach the third generation. He certainly spoke\nFrench and English fluently, but with the strongest Jewish accent, and\nthis was inherited by all his pupils at Dessau. I feel ashamed when I\nthink of the tricks we played the old man\u2014putting mice into his\npockets, upsetting inkstands over his table, and placing crackers\nunder his chairs. But he never lost his temper; he never would have\ndared to punish us as we deserved; but he went on with his lesson as\nif nothing had happened. He took his small pay, and was satisfied\nwhen his lessons were over and he could settle down to his long pipe\nand his books. He lived quite alone and died quite alone, a\nhardworking, honest, poor Jew, not exactly despised or persecuted, but\nnot treated with the respect which he certainly deserved, and which he\nwould have received if he had not been a Jew.\n\nOur public school was as good as any in Germany. These small duchies\ngenerally followed the example of Prussia, and they carried out the\ninstructions issued by the Ministry of Education at Berlin according\nto the very letter. Besides, several of the reigning dukes had taken a\nvery warm and personal interest in popular education, and at the\nbeginning of the century the eyes of the whole of Germany, nay, of\nEurope, were turned towards the educational experiments carried on by\nmy great-grandfather, Basedow,[6] at the so-called Philanthropinum at\nDessau under the patronage of the Duke and of several of the more\nenlightened sovereigns of Europe, such as the Empress Catherine of\nRussia, the King of Denmark, the Emperor Joseph of Austria, Prince\nAdam Czartoryski, &c. Even after Basedow\u2019s death the interest in\neducation was kept alive in Dessau, and all was done that could be\ndone in so small a town to keep the different schools\u2014elementary,\nmiddle-class, and high schools\u2014on the highest possible level of\nefficiency.\n\n  [6] Johann Bernhard Basedow, von seinem Urenkel, F. M. M.\n  (Essays, Band IV).\n\nBathing was a very healthful recreation, though I very nearly came to\ngrief from trusting to my seniors. They could swim and I could not\nyet. But while bathing with two of my friends in a part of the river\nwhich was safe, they swam along and asked me to follow them. Having\ncomplete confidence in them I jumped in from the shore, but very soon\nbegan to sink. My shouts brought my friends back, and they rescued me,\nnot without some difficulty, from drowning.\n\nIn an English school the influence of the master is, of course, more\nconstant, because one of the masters is always within call, while in\nGermany he is visible during school-hours only. If a master is fond of\nhis pupils, and takes an interest in them individually, he can do them\nmore good than parents at home, or the teacher at a day school. The\nboys at a German school are, no doubt, a very mixed crew, but that\ncannot be helped. This mixture of classes may be a drawback in some\nrespects, but from an educational point of view the sons of very rich\nparents are by no means more valuable than the poor boys. Far from it.\nMany of the evils of schoolboy life come from the sons of the rich,\nwhile the sons of poor parents are generally well behaved. But for all\nthat, there was a rough and rude tone among some of the boys at\nschool, arising from defects in the education at home, and this\nsometimes embittered what ought to be the happiest time of life,\nparticularly in the case of delicate boys. The son of a Minister has\noften to sit by the side of the son of a wealthy butcher, and the very\nfact that he is the son of a gentleman often exposes the more refined\nboy to the bullying of his muscular neighbour. I was fortunate at\nschool. I could hold my own with the boys, and as to the masters,\nseveral of them had known my father or had been his pupils, and they\ntook a personal interest in me.\n\nI remember more particularly one young master who was very kind to me,\nand took me home for private lessons and for giving me some good\nadvice. There was something sad and very attractive about him, and I\nfound out afterwards that he knew that he was dying of consumption,\nand that besides that he was liable to be prosecuted for political\nliberalism, which at that time was almost like high treason. I believe\nhe was actually condemned and sent to prison like many others, and he\ndied soon after I had left Dessau. His name was Dr. H\u00f6nicke, and he\nwas the first to try to impress on me that I ought to show myself\nworthy of my father, an idea which had never entered my mind before,\nnay, which at first I could hardly understand, but which,\nnevertheless, slumbered on in my mind till years afterwards it was\ncalled out and became a strong influence for the whole of my life. I\nstill have some lines which he wrote for my album. They were the\nwell-known lines from Horace, which, at the time, I had great\ndifficulty in construing, but which have remained graven in my memory\never since:\n\n    \u201cFortes creantur fortibus et bonis,\n     Est in iuvencis est in equis patrum\n       Virtus nec imbellem feroces\n         Progenerant aquilae columbam.\n     Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam,\n     Rectique cultus pectora roborant;\n       Utcunque defecere mores,\n         Dedecorant bene nata culpae.\u201d\n\nIn my childhood I had to pass through the ordinary illnesses, but it\nwas the faith in our doctor that always saved me. The doctor was to my\nmind the man who was called in to make me well again, and while my\nmother was agitated about her only son, I never dreamt of any danger.\nThe very idea of death never came near me till my grandfather died\n(1835), but even then I was only about twelve years old, and though I\nhad seen much of him, particularly during the years that my mother\nlived again in his house, yet he was too old to take much share in his\ngrandchildren\u2019s amusements. He left a gap, no doubt, in our life, but\nthat gap was filled again with new figures in the life of a boy of\ntwelve. He was only sixty-one years old when he died, and yet my idea\nof him was always that of a very old man. Everything was done for him,\nhis servant dressed him every morning, he was lifted into his carriage\nand out of it, and he certainly lived the life of an invalid, such as\nI should not consent to own to at seventy-six. He made no secret that\nhe cared more for the son of his son who was the heir, and was to\nperpetuate the name of von Basedow, than for the son of his daughter.\nHe was very fond of driving and of shooting, and he frequently took my\ncousin out shooting with him. When my cousin came home with a hare he\nhad shot, I confess I was sometimes jealous, but I was soon cured of\nmy wish to go with my grandfather into the forest. Once when I was\nwith him in his little carriage, my grandfather, not being able to see\nwell, had the misfortune to kill a doe which had come out with her two\nlittle ones. The misery of the mother and afterwards of her two young\nones, was heart-rending, and from that day on I made up my mind never\nto go out shooting, and never to kill an animal. And I have kept my\nword, though I was much laughed at. It may be that later in life and\nafter my grandfather\u2019s death I had little opportunity of shooting, but\nthe cry of the doe and the whimpering of the young ones who tried to\nget suck from their dead mother have remained with me for life.\n\nMy grandfather, though he aged early, remained in harness as Prime\nMinister to the end of his life, and it was his great desire to\nbenefit his country by new institutions. It was he who, at the time\nwhen people hardly knew yet what railroads meant, succeeded in getting\nthe line from Berlin to Halle and Leipzig to pass by Dessau. He\noffered to build the bridge across the Elbe and to give the land and\nthe wood for the sleepers gratis, and what seemed at the time a far\ntoo generous offer has proved a blessing to the duchy, making it as it\nwere the centre of the great railway connecting Berlin, Leipzig,\nMagdeburg, the Elbe, Hanover, Bremen, nay, Cologne also, the Rhine,\nand Western Europe. He was in his way a good statesman, though we are\ntoo apt to measure a man\u2019s real greatness by the circumstances in\nwhich he moves.\n\nAs far back as I can remember I was a martyr to headaches. No doctor\ncould help me, no one seemed to know the cause. It was a migraine, and\nthough I watched it carefully I could not trace it to any fault of\nmine. The idea that it came from overwork was certainly untrue. It\ncame and went, and if it was one day on the right side it was always\nthe next time on the left, even though I was free from it sometimes\nfor a week or a fortnight, or even longer. It was strange also that it\nseldom lasted beyond one day, and that I always felt particularly\nstrong and well the day after I had been prostrate. For prostrate I\nwas, and generally quite unable to do anything. I had to lie down and\ntry to sleep. After a good sleep I was well, but when the pain had\nbeen very bad I found that sometimes the very skin of my forehead had\npeeled off. In this way I often lost two or three days in a week, and\nas my work had to be done somehow, it was often done anyhow, and I was\nscolded and punished, really without any fault of my own. After all\nremedies had failed which the doctor and nurses prescribed (and I well\nremember my grandmother using massage on my neck, which must have\nbeen about 1833 to 1835) I was handed over to Hahnemann, the founder\nof homeopathy. Hahnemann (born 1755) had been practising as doctor at\nDessau as early as 1780\u2014that is somewhat before my time\u2014but had left\nit, and when in 1820 he had been prohibited by the Government from\npractising and lecturing at Leipzig, he took refuge once more in the\nneighbouring town of Coethen. From there he paid visits to Dessau as\nconsulting physician, and after I had explained to him as well as I\ncould all the symptoms of my chronic headache, he assured my mother\nthat he would cure it at once. He was an imposing personality\u2014a\npowerful man with a gigantic head and strong eyes and a most\npersuasive voice. I can quite understand that his personal influence\nwould have gone far to effect a cure of many diseases. People forget\ntoo much how strong a curative power resides in the patient\u2019s faith in\nhis doctor, in fact how much the mind can do in depressing and in\nreinvigorating the body. I shall never forget in later years\nconsulting Sir Andrew Clarke, and telling him of ever so many, to my\nmind, most serious symptoms. I had lost sleep and appetite, and\nimagined myself in a very bad state indeed. He examined me and knocked\nme about for full three quarters of an hour, and instead of\npronouncing my doom as I fully expected, he told me with a bright look\nand most convincing voice that he had examined many men who had worked\ntheir brains too much, but had never seen a man at my time of life so\nperfectly sound in every organ. I felt young and strong at once, and\nmeeting my old friend Morier on my way home, we ate some dozens of\noysters together and drank some pints of porter without the slightest\nbad effect. In fact I was cured without a pill or a drop of medicine.\n\nAnd who does not know how, if one makes up one\u2019s mind at last to have\na tooth pulled out, the pain seems to cease as soon as we pull the\nbell at the dentist\u2019s?\n\nHowever, Hahnemann did not succeed with me. I swallowed a number of\nhis silver and gold globules, but the migraine kept its regular\ncourse, right to left and left to right, and this went on till about\nthe year 1860. Then my doctor, the late Mr. Symonds of Oxford, told me\nexactly what Hahnemann had told me\u2014that he would cure me, if I would\ngo on taking some medicine regularly for six months or a year. He told\nme that he and his brother had made a special study of headaches, and\nthat there were ever so many kinds of headache, each requiring its own\npeculiar treatment. When I asked him to what category of headaches\nmine belonged, I was not a little abashed on being told that my\nheadache was what they called the Alderman\u2019s headache. \u201cSurely,\u201d I\nsaid, \u201cI don\u2019t overeat, or overdrink.\u201d I had thought that mine was a\nmysterious nervous headache, arising from the brain. But no, it seemed\nto be due to turtle soup and port wine. However, the doctor, seeing my\nsurprise, comforted me by telling me that it was the nerves of the\nhead which affected the stomach, and thus produced indirectly the same\ndisturbance in my digestion as an aldermanic diet. Whether this was\ntrue or was only meant as a _solatium_ I do not know. But what I do\nknow is, that by taking the medicine regularly for about half a year,\nthe frequency and violence of my headaches were considerably reduced,\nwhile after about a year they vanished completely. I was a new being,\nand my working time was doubled.\n\nOne lesson may be learnt from this, namely, that the English system of\ndoctoring is very imperfect. In England we wait till we are ill, then\ngo to a doctor, describe our symptoms as well as we can, pay one\nguinea, or two, get our prescription, take drastic medicine for a\nmonth and expect to be well. My German doctor, when he saw the\nprescription of my English doctor, told me that he would not give it\nto a horse. If after a month we are not better we go again; he\npossibly changes our medicine, and we take it more or less regularly\nfor another month. The doctor cannot watch the effect of his medicine,\nhe is not sure even whether his prescriptions have been carefully\nfollowed; and he knows but too well that anything like a chronic\ncomplaint requires a chronic treatment. The important thing, however,\nwas that my headaches yielded gradually to the continued use of\nmedicine; it would hardly have produced the desired effect if I had\ntaken it by fits and starts. All this seems to me quite natural; but\nthough my English doctor cured me, and my German doctors did not, I\nstill hold that the German system is better. Most families have their\ndoctor in Germany, who calls from time to time to watch the health of\nthe old and young members of the family, particularly when under\nmedical treatment, and receives his stipulated annual payment, which\nsecures him a safe income that can be raised, of course, by attendance\non occasional patients. Perhaps the Chinese system is the best; they\npay their doctor while they are well, and stop payment as long as they\nare ill. I know the unanswerable argument which is always thrown at my\nhead whenever I suggest to my friends that there are some things which\nare possibly managed better in Germany than in England. If my remarks\nrefer to the study and practice of medicine I am asked whether more\nmen are killed in England than in Germany; if I refer to the study and\npractice of law I am assured that quite as many murderers are hanged\nin England as in Germany; and if I venture to hint that the study of\ntheology might on certain points be improved at Oxford, I am told that\nquite as many souls are saved in England as in Germany, nay, a good\nmany more. As I cannot ascertain the facts from trustworthy\nstatistics, I have nothing to reply; all I feel is that most nations,\nlike most individuals, are perfect in their own eyes, but that those\nare most perfect who are willing to admit that there is something to\nbe learnt from their neighbours.\n\nBut to return to Hahnemann. He was very kind to me, and I looked up to\nhim as a giant both in body and in mind. But he could not deliver me\nfrom my enemy, the ever recurrent migraine. The cures, however, both\nat Dessau and at Coethen, where he had been made a _Hofrath_ by the\nreigning Duke, were very extraordinary. Hahnemann remained in Coethen\ntill 1835, and in that year, when he was eighty, he married a young\nFrench lady, Melanie d\u2019Hervilly, and was carried off by her to Paris,\nwhere he soon gained a large practice, and died in 1843, that is at\nthe age of eighty-eight. Much of his success, I feel sure, was due to\nhis presence and to the confidence which he inspired. How do I know\nthat Sir Andrew Clarke, seeing that I was in low spirits about my\nhealth, did not think it right to encourage me, and by encouraging me\ndid certainly make me feel confident about myself, and thus raised my\nvitality, my spirits, or whatever we like to call it? \u201cThy faith hath\nmade thee whole\u201d is a lesson which doctors ought not to neglect.\n\nHow little we know the effect of the environment in which we grow up.\nMy old granny has drawn deeper furrows through my young soul than all\nmy teachers and preachers put together. I am not going to add a\nchapter to that most unsatisfactory of all studies, child-psychology.\nIt is an impossible subject. The victim\u2014the child\u2014cannot be\ninterrogated till it is too late. The influences that work on the\nchild\u2019s senses and mind cannot be determined; they are too many, and\ntoo intangible. The observers of babies, mostly young fathers proud of\ntheir first offspring, remind me always of a very learned friend of\nmine, who presented to the Royal Society most laborious pages\ncontaining his lifelong observations on certain deviations of the\nmagnetic needle, and who had forgotten that in making these\nobservations he always had a pair of steel spectacles on his nose.\nHowever, I have nothing to say against these observations, nor against\ntheir more or less successful interpretations. But the real harm\nbegins when people imagine that in studying the ways of infants they\ncan discover what man was like in his original condition, whether as a\nhairy or a hairless creature. To imagine that we can learn from the\nway in which children begin to use our old words, how the primitive\nlanguage of mankind was formed, seems to me like imagining that\nchildren playing with counters would teach us how and for what purpose\nthe first money was coined. There is no doubt a grain of truth in this\ninfantile psychology, but it requires as many caveats as that which is\ncalled ethnological psychology, which makes us see in the savages of\nthe present day the representation of the first ancestors of our race,\nand would teach us to discover in their superstitions the antecedents\nof the mythology and religion of the Aryan or Semitic races. The same\nphilosophers who constantly fall back on heredity and atavism in\norder to explain what seems inexplicable in the beliefs and customs\nof the Brahmans, Greeks, or Romans, seem quite unconscious of the many\ncenturies that must needs have passed over the heads of the\nPatagonians of the present day as well as of the Greeks at the time of\nHomer. They look upon the Patagonians as the _tabula rasa_ of\nhumanity, and they forget that even if we admitted that the ancestors\nof the Aryan race had once been more savage than the Patagonians, it\nwould not follow that their savagery was identical with that of the\npeople of Tierra del Fuego. Why should not the distance between\nPatagonian and Vedic Rishis have been at least as great as that\nbetween Vedic Rishis and Homeric bards? If there are ever so many\nkinds of civilized life, was there only one and the same savagery?\n\nTo take, for instance, the feeling of fear; is it likely that we shall\nfind out whether it is innate in human nature or acquired and\nintensified in each generation, by shaking our fists in the face of a\nlittle baby, to see whether it will wink or shrink or shriek? Some\nchildren may be more fearless than others, but whether that\nfearlessness arises from ignorance or from stolidity is again by no\nmeans easy to determine. A burnt child fears the fire, an unburnt\nchild might boldly grasp a glowing coal, but all this would not help\nus to determine whether fear is an innate or an acquired tendency or\nhabit.\n\nAll I can say for myself is that my young life and even my later years\nwere often rendered miserable by the foolish stories of one of my\ngrandmothers, and that I had to make a strong effort of will before I\ncould bring myself to walk across a churchyard in the dark. This shows\nhow much our character is shaped by circumstances, even when we are\nleast aware of it. I did not believe in ghosts and I was not a coward,\nbut I felt through life a kind of shiver in dark passages and at the\nsound of mysterious noises, and the mere fact that I had to make an\neffort to overcome these feelings shows that something had found its\nway into my mental constitution that ought never to have been there,\nand that caused me, particularly in my younger days, many a moment of\ndiscomfort.\n\nAll such experiences constitute what may be called the background of\nour life. My first ideas of men and women, and of the world at large,\nthat is of the unknown world, were formed within the narrow walls of\nDessau, for Dessau was still surrounded by walls, and the gates of the\ncity were closed every night, though the fears of a foreign enemy were\nbut small. Of course the views of life prevailing at Dessau were very\nnarrow, but they were wide enough for our purposes. Though we heard of\nlarge towns like Dresden or Berlin, and of large countries like France\nand Italy, my real world was Dessau and its neighbourhood. We had no\ninterests outside the walls of our town or the frontiers of our\nduchy. If we heard of things that had happened at Leipzig or Berlin,\nin Paris or London, they had no more reality for us than what we had\nread about Abraham, or Romulus and Remus, or Alexander the Great. To\nus the pulse of the world seemed to beat in the _Haupt- und\nResidenzstadt_ of Dessau, though we knew perfectly well how small it\nwas in comparison with other towns.\n\nAnd this, too, has left its impression on my thoughts all through\nlife, if only by making everything that I saw in later life in such\ntowns as Leipzig, Berlin, Paris, and London, appear quite\noverwhelmingly grand. Boys brought up in any of these large towns\nstart with a different view of the world, and with a different measure\nfor what they see in later life. I do not know that they are to be\nenvied for that, for there is pleasure in admiration, pleasure even in\nbeing stunned by the first sight of the life in the streets of Paris\nor London. I certainly have been a great admirer all my life, and I\nascribe this disposition to the small surroundings of my early years\nat Dessau.\n\nAnd so it was with everything else. Having admired our\nCavalier-Strasse, I could admire all the more the Boulevards in Paris,\nand Regent Street in London. Having enjoyed our small theatre, I stood\naghast at the Grand Opera, and at Drury Lane. This power of admiration\nand enjoyment extended even to dinners and other domestic amusements.\nHaving been brought up on very simple fare, I fully enjoyed the\ndinners which the Old East India Company gave, when we sat down about\n400 people, and, as I was told, four pounds was paid for each guest. I\nmention this because I feel that not only has the Spartan diet of my\nearly years given me a relish all through life for convivial\nentertainments, even if not quite at four pounds a head, but that the\ngeneral self-denial which I had to exercise in my youth has made me\nfeel a constant gratitude and sincere appreciation for the small\ncomforts of my later years.\n\nI remember the time when I woke with my breath frozen on my bedclothes\ninto a thin sheet of ice. We were expected to wash and dress in an\nattic where the windows were so thickly frozen as to admit hardly any\nlight in the morning, and where, when we tried to break the ice in the\njug, there were only a few drops of water left at the bottom with\nwhich to wash. No wonder that the ablutions were expeditious. After\nthey were performed we had our speedy breakfast, consisting of a cup\nof coffee and a _semmel_ or roll, and then we rushed to school, often\nthrough the snow that had not yet been swept away from the pavement.\nWe sat in school from eight to eleven or twelve, rushed home again,\nhad our very simple dinner, and then back to school, from two to four.\nHow we lived through it I sometimes wonder, for we were thinly clad\nand often wet with rain or snow; and yet we enjoyed our life as boys\nonly can enjoy it, and had no time to be ill. One blessing this early\nroughing has left me for life\u2014a power of enjoying many things which\nto most of my friends are matters of course or of no consequence. The\nbackground of my life at Dessau and at Leipzig may seem dark, but it\nhas only served to make the later years of my life all the brighter\nand warmer.\n\nThe more I think about that distant, now very distant past, the more I\nfeel how, without being aware of it, my whole character was formed by\nit. The unspoiled primitiveness of life at Dessau as it was when I was\nat school there till the age of twelve, would be extremely difficult\nto describe in all its details. Everybody seemed to know everybody and\neverything about everybody. Everybody knew that he was watched, and\ngossip, in the best sense of the word, ruled supreme in the little\ntown. Gossip was, in fact, public opinion with all its good and all\nits bad features. Still the result was that no one could afford to\nlose caste, and that everybody behaved as well as he could. I really\nbelieve that the private life of the people of Dessau at the beginning\nof the century was blameless. The great evils of society did not\nexist, and if now and then there was a black sheep, his or her life\nbecame a burden to them. Everybody knew what had happened, and society\nbeing on the whole so blameless, was all the more merciless on the\nsinners, whether their sins were great or small. So from the very\nfirst my idea was that there were only two classes\u2014one class quite\nperfect and pure as angels, the other black sheep, and altogether\nunspeakable. There was no transition, no intermediate links, no\nshading of light and dark. A man was either black or white, and this\nrigid rule applied not only to moral character, but intellectual\nexcellence also was measured by the same standard. A work of art was\neither superlatively beautiful, or it was contemptible. A man of\nscience was either a giant or a humbug. Some people spoke of Goethe as\nthe greatest of all poets and philosophers the world had ever known;\nothers called him a wicked man and an overvalued poet.[7]\n\n  [7] That this was not only the case at Dessau, may be seen by a\n  number of contemporary reviews of Goethe\u2019s works republished\n  some years ago and the exact title of which I cannot find.\n\nIt is dangerous, no doubt, to go through life with so imperfect a\nmeasure, and I have for a long time suffered from it, particularly in\ncases where I ought to have been able to make allowance for small\nfailings. But as I had been brought up to approach people with a\ncomplete trust in their rectitude, and with an unlimited admiration of\ntheir genius, it took me many years before I learnt to make allowance\nfor human weaknesses or temporary failures. I have lost many a\ncharming companion and excellent friend in my journey through life,\nbecause I weighed them with my rusty Dessau balance. I had to learn by\nlong experience that there may be a spot, nay, several spots on the\nsoft skin of a peach, and yet the whole fruit may be perfect. I acted\nvery much like the merchant who tested a whole field of rice by the\nfirst handful of grains, and who, if he found one or two bad grains,\nwould have nothing to do with the whole field. I had to learn what\nwas, perhaps, the most difficult lesson of all, that a trusted friend\ncould not always be trusted, and yet need not therefore be altogether\na reprobate. What was most difficult for me to digest was an untruth:\nfinding out that one who professed to be a friend had said and done\nmost unfriendly things behind one\u2019s back. Still, in a long life one\nfinds out that even that may not be a deadly sin, and that if we are\nso loth to forgive it, it is partly because the falsehood affected our\nown interests. Thus only can we explain how a man whom we know to have\nbeen guilty of falsehoods towards ourselves may be looked upon as\nperfectly honest, straightforward, and trustworthy, by a large number\nof his own friends. We see this over and over again with men occupying\neminent positions in Church and State. We see how a prime minister or\nan archbishop is represented by men who know him as a liar and a\nhypocrite, while by others he is spoken of as a paragon of honour and\nhonesty, and a true Christian. My narrow Dessau views became a little\nwidened when I went to school at Leipzig; still more when I spent two\nyears and a half at the University of Leipzig, and afterwards at\nBerlin. Still, during all this time I saw but little of what is called\nsociety, I only knew of people whom I loved and of people whom I\ndisliked. There was no room as yet for indifferent people, whom one\ntolerates and is civil to without caring whether one sees them again\nor not. Of the simplest duties of society also I was completely\nignorant. No one ever told me what to say and what to do, or what not\nto say and what not to do. What I felt I said, what I thought right I\ndid. There was, in fact, in my small native town very little that\ncould be called society. One lived in one\u2019s family and with one\u2019s\nintimate friends without any ceremony. It is a pity that children are\nnot taught a few rules of life-wisdom by their seniors. I know that\nthe Jews do not neglect that duty, and I remember being surprised at\nmy young Jewish friends at Dessau coming out with some very wise saws\nwhich evidently had not been grown in their own hot-houses, but had\nbeen planted out full grown by their seniors. The only rules of\nworldly wisdom which I remember, came to me through proverbs and\nlittle verses which we had either to copy or to learn by heart, such\nas:\n\n    \u201cWer einmal l\u00fcgt, dem glaubt man nicht\n     Und wenn er auch die Wahrheit spricht.\u201d\n\n    \u201cMorgenstunde hat Gold im Munde.\u201d\n\n    \u201cKein Faden ist so fein gesponnen,\n     Er kommt doch endlich an die Sonnen.\u201d\n\n    \u201cJeder ist seines Gl\u00fcckes Schmied.\u201d\n\nSome lines which hung over my bed I have carried with me all through\nlife, and I still think they are very true and very terse:\n\n    \u201cIm Gl\u00fcck nicht jubeln und im Sturm nicht zagen,\n     Das Unvermeidliche mit W\u00fcrde tragen,\n     Das Rechte thun, am Sch\u00f6nen sich erfreuen,\n     Das Leben lieben und den Tod nicht scheuen,\n     Und fest an Gott und bessere Zukunft glauben,\n     Heisst leben, heisst dem Tod sein Bitteres rauben.\u201d\n\nStill, all this formed a very small viaticum for a journey through\nlife, and I often thought that a few more hints might have preserved\nme from the painful process of what was called rubbing off one\u2019s\nhorns. Again and again I had to say to myself, \u201cThat would have done\nvery well at home, but it was a mistake for all that.\u201d My social\nrawness and simplicity stuck to me for many years, just as the Dessau\ndialect remained with me for life; at least I was assured by my\nfriends that though I had spoken French and English for so many years,\nthey could always detect in my German that I came from Dessau or\nLeipzig.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nSCHOOL-DAYS AT LEIPZIG\n\n\nIt was certainly a poor kind of armour in which I set out from Dessau.\nMy mother, devoted as she was to me, had judged rightly that it was\nbest for me to be with other boys and under the supervision of a man.\nI had been somewhat spoiled by her passionate love, and also by her\npassionate severity in correcting the ordinary naughtinesses of a boy.\nSo having risen from form to form in the school at Dessau, I was sent,\nat the age of twelve, to Leipzig, to live in the house of Professor\nCarus and attend the famous Nicolai-Schule with his son, who was of\nthe same age as myself and who likewise wanted a companion. It was\nthought that there would be a certain emulation between us, and so, no\ndoubt, there was, though we always remained the best of friends. The\nhouse in which we lived stood in a garden and was really an\northopaedic institution for girls. There were about twenty or thirty\nof these young girls living in the house or spending the day there,\nand their joyous company was very pleasant. Of course the names and\nfaces of my young friends have, with one or two exceptions, vanished\nfrom my memory, but I was surprised when a few years ago (1895) I was\nstaying with Madame Salis-Schwabe at her delightful place on the Menai\nStraits, and discovered that we had known each other more than fifty\nyears before in the house of Professor Carus at Leipzig. Though we had\nmet from time to time, we never knew of our early meeting at Leipzig,\ntill in comparing notes we discovered how we had spent a whole year in\nthe same house and among the same friends. Hers has been a life full\nof work and entirely devoted to others. To the very end of her days\nshe was spending her large income in founding schools on the system\nrecommended by Froebel, not only in England, but in Italy. She died at\nNaples in 1896, while visiting a large school that had been founded by\nher with the assistance of the Italian Government. Her own house in\nWales was full of treasures of art, and full of memorials of her many\nfriends, such as Bunsen, Renan, Mole, Ary Scheffer, and many more. How\nfar her charity went may be judged by her being willing to part with\nsome of the most precious of Ary Scheffer\u2019s pictures, in order to keep\nher schools well endowed, and able to last after her death, which she\nfelt to be imminent.\n\nPublic schools are nearly all day schools in Germany. The boys live at\nhome, mostly in their own families, but they spend six hours every day\nat school, and it is a mistake to imagine that they are not attached\nto it, that they have no games together, and that they do not grow up\nmanly or independent. Most schools have playgrounds, and in summer\nswimming is a favourite amusement for all the boys. There were two\ngood public schools at Leipzig, the Nicolai School and the Thomas\nSchool. There was plenty of _esprit de corps_ in them, and often when\nthe boys met it showed itself not only in words but in blows, and the\ndiscussions over the merits of their schools were often continued in\nlater life. I was very fortunate in being sent to the Nicolai School,\nunder Dr. Nobbe as head master. He was at the same time Professor at\nthe University of Leipzig, and is well known in England also as the\neditor of Cicero. He was very proud that his school counted Leibniz[8]\namong its former pupils. He was a classical scholar of the old school.\nDuring the last three years of our school life we had to write plenty\nof Latin and Greek verse, and were taught to speak Latin. The speaking\nof Latin came readily enough, but the verses never attained a very\nhigh level. Besides Nobbe we had Forbiger, well known by his books on\nancient geography, and Palm, editor of the same Greek Dictionary\nwhich, in the hands of Dr. Liddell, has reached its highest\nperfection. Then there was Funkh\u00e4nel, known beyond Germany by his\nedition of the Orations of Demosthenes, and his studies on Greek\norators. We were indeed well off for masters, and most of them seemed\nto enjoy their work and to be fond of the boys. Our head master was\nvery popular. He was a man of the old German type, powerfully built,\nwith a large square head, very much like Luther, and, strange to say,\nwhen in 1839 a great Luther festival was celebrated all over Germany,\nhe published a book in which he proved that he was a direct descendant\nof Luther.\n\n  [8] His own spelling of his name.\n\nThe school was carried on very much on the old plan of teaching\nchiefly classics, but teaching them thoroughly. Modern languages,\nmathematics, and physical science had a poor chance, though they\nclamoured for recognition. Latin and Greek verse were considered far\nmore important. In the two highest forms we had to speak Latin, and\nsuch as it was it seemed to us much easier than to speak French.\nHebrew was also taught as an optional subject during the last four\nyears, and the little I know of Hebrew dates chiefly from my\nschool-days. Schoolboys soon find out what their masters think of the\nvalue of the different subjects taught at school, and they are apt to\ntreat not only the subjects themselves but the teachers also according\nto that standard. Hence our modern language and our physical science\nmasters had a hard time of it. They could not keep their classes in\norder, and it was by no means unusual for many of the boys simply to\nstay away from their lessons. The old mathematical master, before\nbeginning his lesson, used to rub his spectacles, and after looking\nround the half empty classroom, mutter in a plaintive voice: \u201cI see\nagain many boys who are not here to-day.\u201d When the same old master\nbegan to lecture on physical science, he told the boys to bring a frog\nto be placed under a glass from which the air had been extracted by an\nair-pump. Of course every one of the twenty or thirty boys brought two\nor three frogs, and when the experiment was to be made all these frogs\nwere hopping about the lecture-room, and the whole army of boys were\nhopping after them over chairs and tables to catch them. No wonder\nthat during this tumult the master did not succeed with his\nexperiment, and when at last the glass bowl was lifted up and we were\nasked to see the frog, great was the joy of all the boys when the frog\nhopped out and escaped from the hands of its executioner. Such was the\nwrath excited by these new-fangled lectures among the boys that they\nactually committed the vandalism of using one of the forms as a\nbattering-ram against the enclosure in which the physical science\napparatus was kept, and destroyed some of the precious instruments\nsupplied by Government. Severe punishments followed, but they did not\nserve to make physical science more popular.\n\nWe certainly did very well in Greek and Latin, and read a number of\nclassical texts, not only critically at school, but also cursorily at\nhome, having to give a weekly account of what we had thus read by\nourselves. I liked my classics, and yet I could not help feeling that\nthere was a certain exaggeration in the way in which every one of\nthem was spoken of by our teachers, nay, that as compared to German\npoets and prose writers they were somewhat overpraised. Still, it\nwould have been very conceited not to admire what our masters admired,\nand as in duty bound we went into the usual raptures about Homer and\nSophocles, about Horace and Cicero. Many things which in later life we\nlearn to admire in the classics could hardly appeal to the taste of\nboys. The directness, the simplicity and originality of the ancient,\nas compared with modern writers, cannot be appreciated by them, and I\nwell remember being struck with what we disrespectful boys called the\ncheekiness of Horace expecting immortality (_non omnis moriar_) for\nlittle poems which we were told were chiefly written after Greek\npatterns. We had to admit that there were fewer false quantities in\nhis Latin verses than in our own, but in other respects we could not\nsee that his odes were so infinitely superior to ours. His hope of\nimmortality has certainly been fulfilled beyond what could have been\nhis own expectations. With so little of ancient history known to him,\nhis idea of the immortality of poetry must have been far more modest\nin his time than in our own. He may have known the past glories of the\nPersian Empire, but as to ancient literature, there was nothing for\nhim to know, whether in Persia, in Babylonia, in Assyria, or even in\nEgypt, least of all in India. Literary fame existed for him in Greece\nonly, and in the Roman Empire, and his own ambition could therefore\nhardly have extended beyond these limits. The exaggeration in the\npanegyrics passed on everything Greek or Latin dates from the\nclassical scholars of the Middle Ages, who knew nothing that could be\ncompared to the classics, and who were loud in praising what they\npossessed the monopoly of selling. Successive generations of scholars\nfollowed suit, so that even in our time it seemed high treason to\ncompare Goethe with Horace, or Schiller with Sophocles. Of late,\nhowever, the danger is rather that the reaction should go too far and\nlead to a promiscuous depreciation even of such real giants as\nLucretius or Plato. The fact is that we have learnt from them and\nimitated them, till in some cases the imitations have equalled or even\nexcelled the originals, while now the taste for classical correctness\nhas been wellnigh supplanted by an appetite for what is called\nrealistic, original, and extravagant.\n\nWith all that has been said or written against making classical\nstudies the most important element in a liberal education, or rather\nagainst retaining them in their time-honoured position, nothing has as\nyet been suggested to take their place. For after all, it is not\nsimply in order to learn two languages that we devote so large a share\nof our time to the study of Greek and Latin; it is in order to learn\nto understand the old world on which our modern world is founded; it\nis in order to think the old thoughts, which are the feeders of our\nown intellectual life, that we become in our youth the pupils of\nGreeks and Romans. In order to know what we are, we have to learn how\nwe have come to be what we are. Our very languages form an unbroken\nchain between us and Cicero and Aristotle, and in order to use many of\nour words intelligently, we must know the soil from which they sprang,\nand the atmosphere in which they grew up and developed.\n\nI enjoyed my work at school very much, and I seem to have passed\nrapidly from class to class. I frequently received prizes both in\nmoney and in books, but I see a warning attached to some of them that\nI ought not to be conceited, which probably meant no more than that I\nshould not show when I was pleased with my successes. At least I do\nnot know what I could have been conceited about. What I feel about my\nlearning at school is that it was entirely passive. I acquired\nknowledge such as it was presented to me. I did not doubt whatever my\nteachers taught me, I did not, as far as I can recollect, work up any\nsubject by myself. I find only one paper of mine of that early time,\nand, curiously enough, it was on mythology; but it contains no inkling\nof comparative mythology, but simply a chronological arrangement of\nthe sources from which we draw our knowledge of Greek mythology. I see\nalso from some old papers, that I began to write poetry, and that\ntwice or thrice I was chosen at great festivities to recite poems\nwritten by myself. In the year 1839 three hundred years had passed\nsince Luther preached at Leipzig in the Church of St. Nicolai, and the\ntercentenary of this event was celebrated all over Germany. My poem\nwas selected for recitation at a large meeting of the friends of our\nschool and the notables of the town, and I had to recite it, not\nwithout fear and trembling. I was then but sixteen years of age.\n\nIn the next year, 1840, Leipzig celebrated the invention of printing\nin 1440. It was on this occasion that Mendelssohn wrote his famous\n_Hymn of Praise_. I formed part of the chorus, and I well remember the\nmagnificent effect which the music produced in the Church of St.\nThomas. Again a poem of mine was selected, and I had to recite it at a\nlarge gathering in the Nicolai-Schule on July 18, 1840.\n\nOn December 23 another celebration took place at our school, at which\nI had to recite a Latin poem of mine, _In Schillerum_. Lastly, there\nwas my valedictory poem when I left the school in 1841, and a Latin\npoem \u201cAd Nobbium,\u201d our head master.\n\nI have found among my mother\u2019s treasures the far too often flattering\ntestimonial addressed to her by Professor Nobbe on that occasion,\nwhich ends thus: \u201cI rejoice at seeing him leave this school with\ntestimonials of moral excellence not often found in one of his\nyears\u2014and possessed of knowledge in more than one point, first-rate,\nand of intellectual capacities excellent throughout. May his young\nmind develop more and more, may the fruits of his labours hereafter be\na comfort to his mother for the sorrows and cares of the past.\u201d\n\nIt was rather hard on me that I had to pass my examination for\nadmission to the University (_Abiturienten-Examen_) not at my own\nschool, but at Zerbst in Anhalt. This was necessary in order to enable\nme to obtain a scholarship from the Anhalt Government. The schools in\nAnhalt were modelled after the Prussian schools, and laid far more\nstress on mathematics, physical science, and modern languages than the\nschools in Saxony. I had therefore to get up in a very short time\nseveral quite new subjects, and did not do so well in them as in Greek\nand Latin. However, I passed with a first class, and obtained my\nscholarship, small as it was. It was only the other day that I\nreceived a letter from a gentleman who was at school at Zerbst when I\ncame there for my examination. He reminds me that among my examiners\nthere were such men as Dr. Ritter, the two Sentenis, and Professor\nWerner, and he says that he watched me when I came upstairs and\nentered the locked room to do my paper work. My friend\u2019s career in\nlife had been that of Director of a Life Insurance Company, probably a\nmore lucrative career than what mine has been.\n\n  [Illustration: _F. Max M\u00fcller Aged 14._]\n\nDuring my stay at Leipzig, first in the house of Professor Carus, and\nafterwards as a student at the University, my chief enjoyment was\ncertainly music. I had plenty of it, perhaps too much, but I pity\nthe man who has not known the charm of it. At that time Leipzig was\nreally the centre of music in Germany. Felix Mendelssohn was there,\nand most of the distinguished artists and composers of the day came\nthere to spend some time with him and to assist at the famous\nGewandhaus Concerts. I find among my letters a few descriptions of\nconcerts and other musical entertainments, which even at present may\nbe of some interest. I was asked to be present at some concerts where\nquartettes and other pieces were performed by Mendelssohn, Hiller,\nKaliwoda, David, and Eckart. Liszt also made his triumphant entry into\nGermany at Leipzig, and everybody was full of expectation and\nexcitement. His concert had been advertised long before his arrival.\nIt was to consist of an Overture of Weber\u2019s; a Cavatina from _Robert\nle Diable_, sung by Madame Schlegel; a Concerto of Weber\u2019s, to be\nplayed by Liszt, the same which I had shortly before heard played by\nMadame Pleyel; Beethoven\u2019s Overture to _Prometheus_; Fantasia on _La\nJuive_; Schubert\u2019s _Ave Maria_ and _Serenade_, as arranged by Liszt. I\nwas the more delighted because I had myself played some of these\npieces. But suddenly there appeared a placard stating that Liszt, on\nhearing that tickets were sold at one thaler (three shillings), had\ndeclared he would play a few pieces only and without an orchestra. In\nspite of that disappointment, the whole house was full, the staircase\ncrowded from top to bottom, and when we had pushed our way through, we\nfound that about 300 places had been retained for one and a half\nthalers (four shillings and sixpence), while tickets at the box-office\nwere sold for two thalers (six shillings). Nevertheless, I managed to\nget a very good place, by simply not seeing a number of ladies who\nwere pushing behind me. When Liszt appeared there was a terrible\nhissing\u2014he looked as if petrified, glanced like a demon at the\npublic, but nevertheless began to play the Scherzo and Finale of the\nPastoral Symphony. Then there burst out a perfect thunder of applause,\nand all seemed pacified, while Madame Schmidt sang a song accompanied\nby a certain Mr. Kermann. As soon as that was over, a new storm of\nhisses arose, which was meant for this Mr. Kermann, who was a pupil,\nbut at the same time the man of business of Liszt. He and three other\nmen had made all arrangements, and Liszt knew nothing about them, as\nhe cared very little for the money, which went chiefly to his\nmanagers. A Fantasia by Liszt followed, and lastly a _Galop\nChromatique_\u2014but the public would not go away, and at length Liszt\nwas induced to play _Une grande Valse_. It was no doubt a new\nexperience; but I could not go into ecstasies like others, for after\nall it was merely mechanical, though no doubt in the highest\nperfection. The day after Liszt advertised that his original Programme\nwould be played, but at six o\u2019clock Professor Carus, with whom I\nlived, was called to see Liszt, who was said to be ill; the fact being\nhe had only sold fifty tickets at the raised prices. Many strangers\nwho had come to Leipzig to hear him went away, anything but pleased\nwith the new musical genius. At one concert, where he appeared in\nMagyar costume, the ladies offered him a golden laurel wreath and\nsword. He had just published his arrangement of _Adelaida_, which he\npromised to play in one of the concerts.\n\nAnother very musical family at Leipzig was that of Professor Fr\u00f6ge. He\nwas a rich man, and had married a famous singer, Fr\u00e4ulein Schlegel.\nOne evening the _Sonnambula_ was performed in their house, which had\nbeen changed into a theatre. She acted the Sonnambula, and her singing\nas well as her acting was most finished and delightful. Mendelssohn\nwas much in their house, and made her sing his songs as soon as they\nwere written and before they were published. They were great friends,\nthe bond of their friendship being music. He actually died when\nplaying while she was singing. People talked as they always will talk\nabout what they cannot understand, but they evidently did not know\neither Mendelssohn or Madame Fr\u00f6ge.\n\nThe house of Professor Carus was always open to musical geniuses, and\nmany an evening men like Hiller, Mendelssohn, David, Eckart, &c., came\nthere to play, while Madame Carus sang, and sang most charmingly. I\ntoo was asked sometimes to play at these evening parties. I see that\nErnst gave a concert at Leipzig, and no doubt his execution was\nadmirable. Still, I could not understand what David meant when he\ndeclared that after hearing Ernst he would throw his own instrument\ninto the fire.\n\nMendelssohn, who was delighted with Liszt\u2014and no one could judge him\nbetter than he\u2014gave a soir\u00e9e in honour of him. About 400 people were\ninvited\u2014I among the rest, being one of the tenors who sang in the\nOratorio that Hiller was then rehearsing for the first performance. I\nthink it was the _Destruction of Babylon_. There was a complete\norchestra at Mendelssohn\u2019s party, and we heard a symphony of Schubert\n(posthumous), Mendelssohn\u2019s psalm \u201cAs the hart pants,\u201d and his\noverture _Meeresstille und gl\u00fcckliche Fahrt_. After that there was\nsupper for all the guests, and then followed a chorus from his _St.\nPaul_, and a triple concerto of Bach, played on three pianofortes by\nMendelssohn, Liszt, and Hiller. It was a difficult piece\u2014difficult to\nplay and difficult to follow. Lastly, Liszt played his new fantasia on\n_Lucia di Lammermoor_, and his arrangement of the _Erlk\u00f6nig_. All was\nreally perfect; and hearing so much music, I became more and more\nabsorbed in it. I even gave some concerts with Grabau, a great\nvioloncellist, at Merseburg, and at a Count Arnim\u2019s, a very rich\nnobleman near Merseburg, who had invited Liszt for one evening and\npaid him 100 ducats. This seemed at that time a very large sum,\nalmost senseless. As a ducat was about nine shillings, it was after\nall only \u00a345, which would not seem excessive at present for an artist\nsuch as Liszt.\n\nI also heard Thalberg at Leipzig. They all came to see Mendelssohn,\nand I believe did their best to please him. At that time my idea of\ndevoting myself altogether to the study of music became very strong;\nand as Professor Carus married again, I proposed to leave Leipzig, and\nto enter the musical school of Schneider at Dessau. But nothing came\nof that, and I think on the whole it was as well.\n\nWhile at school at Leipzig I had but little opportunity of travelling,\nfor my mother was always anxious to have me home during the holidays,\nand I was equally anxious to be with her and to see my relations at\nDessau. Generally I went in a wretched carriage from Leipzig to\nDessau. It was only seven German miles (about thirty-five English\nmiles), but it took a whole day to get there; and during part of the\njourney, when we had to cross the deep and desert-like sands, walking\non foot was much more expeditious than sitting inside the carriage.\nBut then we paid only one thaler for the whole journey, and sometimes,\nin order to save that, I walked on foot the whole way. That also took\nme a whole day; but when I tried it the first time, being then quite\nyoung and rather delicate in health, I had to give in about an hour\nbefore I came to Dessau, my legs refusing to go further, and my\nmuscles being cramped and stiff from exertion, I had to sit down by\nthe road. During one vacation I remember exploring the valley of the\nMulde with some other boys. We travelled for about a fortnight from\nvillage to village, and lived in the simplest way. A more ambitious\njourney I took in 1841 with a friend of mine, Baron von Hagedorn. He\nwas a curious and somewhat mysterious character. He had been brought\nup by a great-aunt of mine, to whom he was entrusted as a baby. No one\nknew his parents, but they must have been rich, for he possessed a\nlarge fortune. He had a country place near Munich, and he spent the\ngreater part of the year in travelling about, and amusing himself. He\nhad been brought up with my mother and other members of our family,\nand he took a very kind interest in me. I see from my letters that in\n1841 he took me from Dessau to Coethen, Brunswick, and Magdeburg. At\nBrunswick we saw the picture gallery, the churches, and the tomb of\nSchill, one of the German volunteers in the War of Independence\nagainst France. We also explored Hildesheim, saw the rose-tree\nplanted, as we were told, by Charlemagne; then proceeded to G\u00f6ttingen,\nand saw its famous library. We passed through Minden, where the Fulda\nand Werra join, and arrived late at Cassel. From Cassel we explored\nWilhelmsh\u00f6he, the beautiful park where thirty years later Napoleon III\nwas kept as a prisoner.\n\nHagedorn, with all his love of mystery and occasional exaggeration,\nwas certainly a good friend to me. He often gave me good advice, and\nwas more of a father to me than a mere friend. He was a man of the\nworld; and he forgot that I never meant to be a man of the world, and\ntherefore his advice was not always what I wanted. He was also a great\nfriend of my cousin who was married to a Prince of Dessau, and they\nhad agreed among themselves that I should go to the Oriental Academy\nat Vienna, learn Oriental languages, and then enter the diplomatic\nservice. As there were no children from the Prince\u2019s marriage, I was\nto be adopted by him, and, as if the princely fortune was not enough\nto tempt me, I was told that even a wife had been chosen for me, and\nthat I should have a new name and title, after being adopted by the\nPrince. To other young men this might have seemed irresistible. I at\nonce said no. It seemed to interfere with my freedom, with my studies,\nwith my ideal of a career in life; in fact, though everything was\npresented to me by my cousin as on a silver tray, I shook my head and\nremained true to my first love, Sanskrit and all the rest. Hagedorn\ncould not understand this; he thought a brilliant life preferable to\nthe quiet life of a professor. Not so I. He little knew where true\nhappiness was to be found, and he was often in a very melancholy mood.\nHe did not live long, but I shall never forget how much I owed him.\nWhen I went to Paris, he allowed me to live in his rooms. They were,\nit is true, _au cinqui\u00e8me_, but they were in the best quarter of\nParis, in the Rue Royale St. Honor\u00e9, opposite the Madeleine, and very\nprettily furnished. This kept me from living in dusty lodgings in the\nQuartier Latin, and the five flights of stairs may have strengthened\nmy lungs. I well remember what it was when at the foot of the\nstaircase I saw that I had forgotten my handkerchief and had to toil\nup again. But in those days one did not know what it meant to be\ntired. Whether my friends grumbled, I cannot tell, but I myself pitied\nsome of them who were old and gouty when they arrived at my door out\nof breath.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nUNIVERSITY\n\n\nIn order to enable me to go to the University, my mother and sister\nmoved to Leipzig and kept house for me during all the time I was\nthere\u2014that is, for two years and a half. In spite of the _res angusta\ndomi_, I enjoyed my student-life thoroughly, while my home was made\nvery agreeable by my mother and sister. My mother was full of\nresource, and she was wise enough not to interfere with my freedom. My\nsister, who was about two years older than myself, was most\nkind-hearted and devoted both to me and to our mother. There was\nnothing selfish in her, and we three lived together in perfect love,\npeace, and harmony. My sister enjoyed what little there was of\nsociety, whereas I kept sternly aloof from it. She was much admired,\nand soon became engaged to a young doctor, Dr. A. Krug, the son of the\nfamous professor of philosophy at Leipzig, whose works, particularly\nhis _Dictionary of Philosophy_, hold a distinguished place in the\nhistory of German philosophy. He was a thorough patriot, and so public\nspirited that he thought it right to leave a considerable sum of money\nto the University, without making sufficient provision for his\nchildren. However, the young married couple lived happily at Chemnitz,\nand my sister was proud in the possession of her children. It was the\nsudden death of several of these children that broke her heart and\nruined her health; she died very young. Standing by the grave of her\nchildren, she said to me shortly before her death, \u201cHalf of me is dead\nalready, and lies buried there; the other half will soon follow.\u201d\n\nOf society, in the ordinary sense of the word, I saw hardly anything.\nI am afraid I was rather a bear, and declined even to invest in\nevening dress. I joined a student club which formed part of the\n_Burschenschaft_, but which in order to escape prosecution adopted the\ntitle of _Gemeinschaft_. I went there in the evening to drink beer and\nsmoke, and I made some delightful acquaintances and friendships. What\nfine characters were there, often behind a very rough exterior! My\ndearest friend was Prowe, of Thorn in East Prussia\u2014so honest, so\ntrue, so straightforward, so over-conscientious in the smallest\nthings. He was a classical scholar, and later on entered the Prussian\neducational service. As a master at the principal school at Thorn his\ntime was fully occupied, and of course he was cut off there from the\nenlivening influences of literary society. Still he kept up his\ninterest in higher questions, and published some extremely valuable\nbooks on Copernicus, a native of Thorn, for which he received the\nthanks of astronomers and historians, and flattering testimonials\nfrom learned societies. We met but seldom later in life, and my own\nlife in England was so busy and full that even our correspondence was\nnot regular. But I met him once more at Ems with a charming wife, and\ndecidedly happy in his own sphere of activity. These early friendships\nform the distant landscape of life on which we like to dwell when the\npresent ceases to absorb all our thoughts. Our memory dwells on them\nas a golden horizon, and there remains a constant yearning which makes\nus feel the incompleteness of this life. After all, the number of our\ntrue friends is small; and yet how few even of that small number\nremain with us for life. There are other faces and other names that\nrise from beyond the clouds which more and more divide us from our\nearly years.\n\nThere were some wild spirits among us who fretted at the narrow-minded\npolicy which went by the name of the Metternich system. Repression was\nthe panacea which Metternich recommended to all the governments of\nGermany, large and small. No doubt the system of keeping things quiet\nsecured to Germany and to Europe at large a thirty years\u2019 peace, but\nit could not prevent the accumulation of inflammable material which,\nafter several threatenings, burst forth at last in the conflagration\nof 1848. Among my friends I remember several who were ready for the\nwildest schemes in order to have Germany united, respected abroad,\nand under constitutional government at home. Splendid fellows they\nwere, but they either ended their days within the walls of a prison,\nor had to throw up everything and migrate to America. What has become\nof them? Some have risen to the surface in America, others have\nyielded to the inevitable and become peaceful citizens at home; nay, I\nam grieved to say, have even accepted service under Government to spy\non their former friends and fellow-dreamers. But not a few saw the\nwhole of their life wrecked either in prison or in poverty, though\nthey had done no wrong, and in many cases were the finest characters\nit has been my good fortune to know. They were before their time, the\nfruit was not ripe as it was in 1871, but Germany certainly lost some\nof her best sons in those miserable years; and if my father escaped\nthis political persecution, it was probably due to the influence of\nthe reigning Duke and the Duchess, a Princess of Prussia, who knew\nthat he was not a dangerous man, and not likely to blow up the German\nDiet.\n\nI myself got a taste of prison life for the offence of wearing the\nribbon of a club which the police regarded with disfavour. I cannot\nsay that either the disgrace or the discomfort of my two days\u2019 durance\nvile weighed much with me, as my friends were allowed free access to\nme, and came and drank beer and smoked cigars in my cell\u2014of course at\nmy expense\u2014but what I dreaded was the loss of my stipendium or\nscholarship, which alone enabled me to continue my studies at\nLeipzig, and which, as a rule, was forfeited for political offences.\nOn my release from prison I went to the Rector of the University and\nexplained to him the circumstances of the case\u2014how I had been\narrested simply for membership of a suspected club. I assured him that\nI was innocent of any political propaganda, and that the loss of my\nstipendium would entail my leaving the University. Much to my relief,\nthe old gentleman replied: \u201cI have heard nothing about this; and if I\ndo, how am I to know that it refers to you, there are many M\u00fcllers in\nthe University?\u201d Fortunately the distinctive prefix Max had not yet\nbeen added to my name.\n\nI must confess that I and my boon companions were sometimes guilty of\npractices which in more modern days, and certainly at Oxford or\nCambridge, would be far more likely to bring the culprits into\ncollision with the authorities than mere membership of societies in\nwhich comparatively harmless political talk was indulged in.\n\nDuelling was then, as it is now, a favourite pastime among the\nstudents; and though not by nature a brawler, I find that in my\nstudent days at Leipzig I fought three duels, of two of which I carry\nthe marks to the present day.\n\nI remember that on one occasion before the introduction of cabs we\nhired all the sedan-chairs in Leipzig, with their yellow-coated\nporters, and went in procession through the streets, much to the\nastonishment of the good citizens, and annoyance also, as they were\nunable to hire any means of conveyance till a peremptory stop was put\nto our fun. Not content with this exploit, when the first cabs were\nintroduced into Leipzig, thirty or forty being put on the street at\nfirst, I and my friends secured the use of all of them for the day,\nand proceeded out into the country. The inhabitants who were eagerly\nlooking forward to a drive in one of the new conveyances were\nnaturally annoyed at finding themselves forestalled, and the result\nwas that a stop was put to such freaks in future by the issue of a\npolice regulation that nobody was allowed to hire more than two cabs\nat a time.\n\nVery innocent amusements, if perhaps foolish, but very happy days all\nthe same; and it must be remembered that we had just emerged from the\nstrict discipline of a German school into the unrestricted liberty of\nGerman university life.\n\nIt is in every respect a great jump from a German school to a German\nuniversity. At school a boy even in the highest form, has little\nchoice. All his lessons are laid down for him; he has to learn what he\nis told, whether he likes it or not. Few only venture on books outside\nthe prescribed curriculum. There is an examination at the end of every\nhalf-year, and a boy must pass it well in order to get into a higher\nform. Boys at a public school (gymnasium), if they cannot pass their\nexamination at the proper time, are advised to go to another school,\nand to prepare for a career in which classical languages are of less\nimportance.\n\nI must say at once that when I matriculated at Leipzig, in the summer\nof 1841, I was still very young and very immature. I had determined to\nstudy philology, chiefly Greek and Latin, but the fare spread out by\nthe professors was much too tempting. I read Greek and Latin without\ndifficulty; I often read classical authors without ever attempting to\ntranslate them; I also wrote and spoke Latin easily. Some of the\nprofessors lectured in Latin, and at our academic societies Latin was\nalways spoken. I soon became a member of the classical seminary under\nGottfried Hermann, and of the Latin Society under Professor Haupt.\nAdmission to these seminaries and societies was obtained by submitting\nessays, and it was no doubt a distinction to belong to them. It was\nalso useful, for not only had we to write essays and discuss them with\nthe other members, generally teachers, and with the professor, but we\ncould also get some useful advice from the professor for our private\nstudies. In that respect the German universities do very little for\nthe students, unless one has the good fortune to belong to one of\nthese societies. The young men are let loose, and they can choose\nwhatever lectures they want. I still have my _Collegien-Buch_, in\nwhich every professor has to attest what lectures one has attended.\nThe number of lectures on various subjects which I attended is quite\namazing, and I should have attended still more if the honorarium had\nnot frightened me away. Every professor lectured _publice_ and\n_privatim_, and for the more important courses, four lectures a week,\nhe charged ten shillings, for more special courses less or nothing.\nThis seems little, but it was often too much for me; and if one added\nthese honoraria to the salary of a popular professor, his income was\nconsiderable, and was more than the income of most public servants. I\nhave known professors who had four or five hundred auditors. This gave\nthem \u00a3250 twice a year, and that, added to their salary, was\nconsidered a good income at that time. All this has been much changed.\nSalaries have been raised, and likewise the honoraria, so that I well\nremember the case of Professor von Savigny, who, when he was chosen\nMinister of Justice at Berlin, declared that he would gladly accept if\nonly his salary was raised to what his income had been as Professor of\nLaw. Of course, professors of Arabic or Sanskrit were badly off, and\n_Privatdocenten_ (tutors) fared still worse, but the _professores\nordinarii_, particularly if they lectured on an obligatory subject and\nwere likewise examiners, were very well off. In fact, it struck me\nsometimes as very unworthy of them to keep a _famulus_, a student who\nhad to tell every one who wished to hear a distinguished professor\nonce or twice, that he would not allow him to come a third time.\n\nOne great drawback of the professorial system is certainly the small\nmeasure of personal advice that a student may get from the professors.\nUnless he is known to them personally, or has gained admission to\ntheir societies or seminaries, the young student or freshman is quite\nbewildered by the rich fare in the shape of lectures that is placed\nbefore him. Some students, no doubt, particularly in their early\nterms, solve this difficulty by attending none at all, and there is no\nforce to make them do so, except the examinations looming in the\ndistance. But there are many young men most anxious to learn, only\nthey do not know where to begin. I open my old _Collegien-Buch_ and I\nfind that in the first term or Semester I attended the following\nlectures, and I may say I attended them regularly, took careful notes,\nand read such books as were recommended by the professors. I find\n\n   1. The first book of Thucydides          Gottfried Hermann.\n   2. On Scenic Antiquities                 The same.\n   3. On Propertius                         P. M. Haupt.\n   4. History of German Literature          The same.\n   5. The Ranae of Aristophanes             Stallbaum.\n   6. Disputatorium (in Latin)              Nobbe.\n   7. Aesthetics                            Weisse.\n   8. Anthropology                          Lotze.\n   9. Systems of Harmonic Composition       Fink.\n  10. Hebrew Grammar                        F\u00fcrst.\n  11. Demosthenes                           Westermann.\n  12. Psychology                            Heinroth.\n\nThis was enough for the summer half-year. Except Greek and Latin, the\nother subjects were entirely new to me, and what I wanted was to get\nan idea of what I should like to study. It may be interesting to add\nthe other Semesters as far as I have them in my _Collegien-Buch_.\n\n  13. Aeschyli Persae                       Hermann.\n  14. On Criticism                          The same.\n  15. German Grammar                        Haupt.\n  16. Walther von der Vogelweide            The same.\n  17. Tacitus, Agricola, and De Oratoribus  The same.\n  18. On Hegel                              Weisse.\n  19. Disputatorium (Latin)                 Nobbe.\n  20. Modern History                        Wachsmuth.\n  21. Sanskrit Grammar                      Brockhaus.\n  22. Latin Society                         Haupt.\n\nThen follows the summer term of 1842.\n\n  23. Pindar                                Hermann.\n  24. Nibelungen                            Haupt.\n  25. Nala                                  Brockhaus.\n  26. History of Oriental Literature        The same.\n  27. Arabic Grammar                        Fleischer.\n  28. Latin Society                         Haupt.\n  29. Plauti Trinumus                       Becker.\n\nWinter term, 1842.\n\n  30. Prabodha Chandrodaya                  Brockhaus.\n  31. History of Indian Literature          The same.\n  32. Aristophanes\u2019 Vespae                  Hermann.\n  33. Plauti Rudens                         The same.\n  34. Greek Syntax                          The same.\n  35. Juvenal                               Becker.\n  36. Metaphysics and Logic                 Weisse.\n  37. Philosophy of History                 The same.\n  38. Greek and Latin Seminary              Hermann & Klotze.\n  39. Latin Society                         Haupt.\n  40. Philosophical Society                 Weisse.\n  41. Philosophical Society                 Drobisch.\n\nSummer term, 1843.\n\n  42. Greek and Latin Seminary              Hermann & Klotze.\n  43. Philosophical Society                 Drobisch.\n  44. Philosophical Society                 Weisse.\n  45. Soma-deva                             Brockhaus.\n  46. Hitopadesa                            The same.\n  47. History of Greeks and Romans          Wachsmuth.\n  48. History of Civilization               The same.\n  49. History after the Fifteenth Century   Flathe.\n  50. History of Ancient Philosophy         Niedner.\n\nWinter term, 1843-4.\n\n  51. Rig-veda                              Brockhaus.\n  52. Elementa Persica                      Fleischer.\n  53. Greek and Latin Seminary              Hermann & Klotze.\n\nHere my _Collegien-Buch_ breaks off, the fact being that I was\npreparing to go to Berlin to hear the lectures of Bopp and Schelling.\n\nIt will be clear from the above list that I certainly attempted too\nmuch. I ought either to have devoted all my time to classical studies\nexclusively, or carried on my philosophical studies more\nsystematically. I confess that, delighted as I was with Gottfried\nHermann and Haupt as my guides and teachers in classics, I found\nlittle that could rouse my enthusiasm for Greek and Latin literature,\nand I always required a dose of that to make me work hard. Everything\nseemed to me to have been done, and there was no virgin soil left to\nthe plough, no ruins on which to try one\u2019s own spade. Hermann and\nHaupt gave me work to do, but it was all in the critical line\u2014the\ngenealogical relation of various MSS., or, again, the peculiarities of\ncertain poets, long before I had fully grasped their general\ncharacter. What Latin vowels could or could not form elision in\nHorace, Propertius, or Ovid, was a subject that cost me much labour,\nand yet left very small results as far as I was personally concerned.\nOne clever conjecture, or one indication to show that one MS. was\ndependent on the other, was rewarded with a Doctissime or\nExcellentissime, but a paper on Aeschylus and his view of a divine\ngovernment of the world received but a nodding approval.\n\nThey certainly taught their pupils what accuracy meant; they gave us\nthe new idea that MSS. are not everything, unless their real value has\nbeen discovered first by finding the place which they occupy in the\npedigree of the MSS. of every author. They also taught us that there\nare mistakes in MSS. which are inevitable, and may safely be left to\nconjectural emendation; that MSS. of modern date may be and often are\nmore valuable than more ancient MSS., for the simple reason that they\nwere copied from a still more ancient MS., and that often a badly\nwritten and hardly legible MS. proves more helpful than others\nwritten by a calligraphist, because it is the work of a scholar who\ncopied for himself and not for the market. All these things we learnt\nand learnt by practical experience under Hermann and Haupt, but what\nwe failed to acquire was a large knowledge of Greek and Latin\nliterature, of the character of each author and of the spirit which\npervaded their works. I ought to have read in Latin, Cicero, Tacitus,\nand Lucretius; in Greek, Herodotus, Thucydides, Plato, and Aristotle;\nbut as I read only portions of them, my knowledge of the men\nthemselves and their objects in life remained very fragmentary. For\ninstance, my real acquaintance with Plato and Aristotle was confined\nto a few dialogues of the former and some of the logical works of the\nlatter. The rest I learnt from such works as Ritter and Preller\u2019s\n_Historia Philosophiae Graecae et Romanae ex fontium locis contexta_,\nand from the very useful lectures of Niedner on the history of ancient\nphilosophy. However, I thought I had to do what my professors told me,\nand shaped my reading so that they should approve of my work.\n\nThis must not be understood as in any way disparaging my teachers.\nSuch an idea never entered my head at the time. People have no idea in\nEngland what kind of worship is paid by German students to their\nprofessors. To find fault with them or to doubt their _ipse dixit_\nnever entered our minds. What they said of other classical scholars\nfrom whom they differed, as Hermann did from Otfried M\u00fcller, or Haupt\nfrom Orelli, was gospel, and remained engraved on our memory for a\nlong time. Once when attending Hermann\u2019s lectures, another student who\nwas sitting at the same table with me made disrespectful remarks about\nold Hermann. I asked him to be quiet, and when he went on with his\nfoolish remarks, I could only stop him by calling him out. As soon as\nthe challenge was accepted he had of course to be quiet, and a few\ndays after we fought our duel without much damage to either of us. I\nonly mention this because it shows what respect and admiration we felt\nfor our professor, also because it exemplifies the usefulness of\nduelling in a German university, where after a challenge not another\nword can be said or violence be threatened even by the rudest\nundergraduate. A duel for a Greek conjecture may seem very absurd, but\nin duels of this kind all that is wanted is really a certain knowledge\nof fencing, care being taken that nothing serious shall happen. And\nyet, though that is so, the feeling of a possible danger is there, and\nkeeps up a certain etiquette and a certain proper behaviour among men\ntaken from all strata of society. Nor can I quite deny that when I\nwent in the morning to a beautiful wood in the neighbourhood of\nLeipzig, certain misgivings were difficult to suppress. I saw myself\nseverely wounded, possibly killed, by my antagonist, and carried to a\nhouse where my mother and sister were looking for me. This went off\nwhen I met the large assembly of students, beautifully attired in\ntheir club uniforms, the beer barrels pushed up on one side, the\nsurgeon and his instruments waiting on the other. There were ever so\nmany, thirty or forty couples I think, waiting to fight their duels\nthat morning. Some fenced extremely well, and it was a pleasure to\nlook on; and when one\u2019s own turn came, all one thought of was how to\nstand one\u2019s ground boldly, and how to fence well. Some of the\ncombatants came on horseback or in carriages, and there was a small\nriver close by to enable us to escape if the police should have heard\nof our meeting. For popular as these duels are, they are forbidden and\npunished, and the severest punishment seemed always to be the loss of\nour uniforms, our arms, our flags, and our barrels of beer. However,\nwe escaped all interference this time, and enjoyed our breakfast in\nthe forest thoroughly, nothing happening to disturb the hilarity of\nthe morning.\n\nNot being satisfied with what seemed to me a mere chewing of the cud\nin Greek and Latin, I betook myself to systematic philosophy, and even\nduring the first terms read more of that than of Plato and Aristotle.\nI belonged to the philosophical societies of Weisse, of Drobisch, and\nof Lotze, a membership in each of which societies entailed a\nconsiderable amount of reading and writing.\n\nAt Leipzig, Professor Drobisch represented the school of Herbart,\nwhich prided itself on its clearness and logical accuracy, but was\nnaturally less attractive to the young spirits at the University who\nhad heard of Hegel\u2019s Idea and looked to the dialectic process as the\nsolution of all difficulties. I wished to know what it all meant, for\nI was not satisfied with mere words. There is hardly a word that has\nso many meanings as Idea, and I doubt whether any of the raw recruits,\njust escaped from school, and unacquainted with the history of\nphilosophy, could have had any idea of what Hegel\u2019s Idea was meant\nfor. Yet they talked about it very eloquently and very positively over\ntheir glasses of beer; and anybody who came from Berlin and could\nspeak mysteriously or rapturously about the Idea and its evolution by\nthe dialectic process, was listened to with silent wonder by the young\nSaxons, who had been brought up on Kant and Krug. The Hegelian fever\nwas still very high at that time. It is true Hegel himself was dead\n(1831), and though he was supposed to have declared on his deathbed\nthat he left only one true disciple, and that that disciple had\nmisunderstood him, to be a Hegelian was considered a _sine qua non_,\nnot only among philosophers, but quite as much among theologians, men\nof science, lawyers, artists, in fact, in every branch of human\nknowledge, at least in Prussia. If Christianity in its Protestant form\nwas the state-religion of the kingdom, Hegelianism was its\nstate-philosophy. Beginning with the Minister of Instruction down to\nthe village schoolmaster, everybody claimed to be a Hegelian, and\nthis was supposed to be the best road to advancement. Though\nAltenstein, who was then at the head of the Ministry of Instruction,\nbegan to waver in his allegiance to Hegel, even he could not resist\nthe rush of public and of official opinion. It was he who, when a new\nprofessor of philosophy was recommended to him either by Hegel himself\nor by some of his followers, is reported to have said: \u201cGentlemen, I\nhave read some of the young man\u2019s books, and I cannot understand a\nword of them. However, you are the best judges, only allow me to say\nthat you remind me a little of the French officer who told his tailor\nto make his breeches as tight as possible, and dismissed him with the\nwords: \u2018Enfin, si je peux y entrer, je ne les prendrai pas.\u2019 This\nseems to me very much what you say of your young philosopher. If I can\nunderstand his books, I am not to take him.\u201d This Hegelian fever was\nvery much like what we have passed through ourselves at the time of\nthe Darwinian fever; Darwin\u2019s natural evolution was looked upon very\nmuch like Hegel\u2019s dialectic process, as the general solvent of all\ndifficulties. The most egregious nonsense was passed under that name,\nas it was under the name of evolution. Hegel knew very well what he\nmeant, so did Darwin. But the empty enthusiasm of his followers became\nso wild that Darwin himself, the most humble of all men, became quite\nashamed of it. The master, of course, was not responsible for the\nfolly of his so-called disciples, but the result was inevitable.\nAfter the bow had been stretched to the utmost, a reaction followed,\nand in the case of Hegelianism, a complete collapse. Even at Berlin\nthe popularity of Hegelianism came suddenly to an end, and after a\ntime no truly scientific man liked to be called a Hegelian. These\nsudden collapses in Germany are very instructive. As long as a German\nprofessor is at the head of affairs and can do something for his\npupils, his pupils are very loud in their encomiums, both in public\nand in private. They not only exalt him, but help to belittle all who\ndiffer from him. So it was with Hegel, so it was at a later time with\nBopp, and Curtius, and other professors, particularly if they had the\near of the Minister of Education. But soon after the death of these\nmen, particularly if another influential star was rising, the change\nof tone was most sudden and most surprising; even the sale of their\nbooks dwindled down, and they were referred to only as landmarks,\nshowing the rapid advance made by living celebrities. Perhaps all this\ncannot be helped, as long as human nature is what it is, but it is\nnevertheless painful to observe.\n\nI had the good fortune of becoming acquainted with Hegelianism through\nProfessor Christian Weisse at Leipzig, who, though he was considered a\nHegelian, was a very sober Hegelian, a critic quite as much as an\nadmirer of Hegel. He had a very small audience, because his manner of\nlecturing was certainly most trying and tantalizing. But by being\nbrought into personal contact with him one was able to get help from\nhim wherever he could give it. Though Weisse was convinced of the\ntruth of Hegel\u2019s Dialectic Method, he often differed from him in its\napplication. This Dialectic Method consisted in showing how thought is\nconstantly and irresistibly driven from an affirmative to a negative\nposition, then reconciles the two opposites, and from that point\nstarts afresh, repeating once more the same process. Pure being, for\ninstance, from which Hegel\u2019s ideal evolution starts, was shown to be\nthe same as empty being, that is to say, nothing, and both were\npresented as identical, and in their identity giving us the new\nconcept of Becoming (_Werden_), which is being and not-being at the\nsame time. All this may appear to the lay reader rather obscure, but\ncould not well be passed over.\n\nSo far Weisse followed the great thinker, and I possess still, in his\nown writing, the picture of a ladder on which the intellect is\nrepresented as climbing higher and higher from the lowest concept to\nthe highest\u2014a kind of Jacob\u2019s ladder on which the categories, like\nangels of God, ascend and descend from heaven to earth. We must\nremember that the true Hegelian regarded the Ideas as the thoughts of\nGod. Hegel looked upon this evolution of thought as at the same time\nthe evolution of Being, the Idea being the only thing that could be\nsaid to be truly real. In order to understand this, we must remember\nthat the historical key to Hegel\u2019s Idea was really the Neo-Platonic\nor Alexandrian Logos. But of this Logos we ignorant undergraduates,\nsitting at the feet of Prof. Weisse, knew absolutely nothing, and even\nif the Idea was sometimes placed before us as the Absolute, the\nInfinite, or the Divine, it was to us, at least to most of us, myself\nincluded, _vox et praeterea nihil_. We watched the wonderful\nevolutions and convolutions of the Idea in its Dialectic development,\nbut of the Idea itself or himself we had no idea whatever. It was all\ndarkness, a vast abyss, and we sat patiently and wrote down what we\ncould catch and comprehend of the Professor\u2019s explanations, but the\nIdea itself we never could lay hold of. It would not have been so\ndifficult if the Professor had spoken out more boldly. But whenever he\ncame to the relation of the Idea to what we mean by God, there was\nalways even with him, who was a very honest man, a certain theological\nhesitation. Hegel himself seems to shrink occasionally from the\nconsequence that the Idea really stands in the place of God, and that\nit is in the self-conscious spirit of humanity that the ideal God\nbecomes first conscious of himself. Still, that is the last word of\nHegel\u2019s philosophy, though others maintain that the Idea with Hegel\nwas the thought of God, and that human thought was but a repetition of\nthat divine thought. With Hegel there is first the evolution of the\nIdea in the pure ether of logic from the simplest to the highest\ncategory. Then follows Hegel\u2019s Philosophy of Nature, that is, the\nevolution of the Idea in nature, the Idea having by the usual\ndialectic process negatived itself and entered into its opposite\n(_Anderssein_), passing through a new process of space and time, and\nending in the self-conscious human soul. Thus nature and spirit were\nrepresented as dominated by the Idea in its logical development.\nNature was one manifestation of the Idea, History the other, and it\nbecame the task of the philosopher to discover its traces both in the\nprogress of nature and in the historical progress of thought.\n\nAnd here it was where the strongest protests began to be heard.\nPhysical Science revolted, and Historical Research soon joined the\nrebellion. Professor Weisse also, in spite of his great admiration for\nHegel, protested in his Lectures against this idealization of history,\nand showed how often Hegel, if he could not find the traces he was\nlooking for in the historical development of the Idea, was misled by\nhis imperfect knowledge of facts, and discovered what was not there,\nbut what he felt convinced ought to have been there. Nowhere has this\nbecome so evident as in Hegel\u2019s _Philosophy of Religion_. The\nconception was grand of seeing in the historical development of\nreligion a repetition of the Dialectic Progress of the Idea. But facts\nare stubborn things, and do not yield even to the supreme command of\nthe Idea. Besides, if the historical facts of religion were really\nsuch as the Dialectic Process of the Idea required, these facts are\nno longer what they were before 1831, and what would become then of\nthe Idea which, as he wrote in his preface to his _Metaphysics_, could\nnot possibly be changed to please the new facts? It was this part of\nWeisse\u2019s lectures, it was the protest of the historical conscience\nagainst the demands of the Idea, that interested me most. I see as\nclearly the formal truth as the material untruth of Hegel\u2019s\nphilosophy. The thorough excellence of its method and the desperate\nbaldness of its results, strike me with equal force. Though I did not\nyet know what kind of thing or person the Idea was really meant for, I\nknew myself enough of ancient Greek philosophy and of Oriental\nreligions to venture to criticize Hegel\u2019s representation and\ndisposition of the facts themselves. I could not accept the answer of\nmy more determined Hegelian friends, _Tant pis pour les faits_, but\nfelt more and more the old antagonism between what ought to be and\nwhat is, between the reasonableness of the Idea, and the\nunreasonableness of facts. I found a strong supporter in a young\nPrivat-Docent who at that time began his brilliant career at Leipzig,\nDr. Lotze. He had made a special study of mathematics and physical\nscience, and felt the same disagreement between facts and theories in\nHegel\u2019s _Philosophy of Nature_ which had struck me so much in reading\nhis _Philosophy of Religion_. I joined his philosophical society, and\nI lately found among my old papers several essays which I had written\nfor our meetings. They amused me very much, but I should be sorry to\nsee them published now. It is curious that after many years I, as a\nDelegate of the University Press at Oxford, was instrumental in\ngetting the first English translation of Lotze\u2019s _Metaphysics_\npublished in England; and it is still more curious that Mark Pattison,\nthe late Rector of Lincoln, should have opposed it with might and main\nas a useless book which would never pay its expenses. I stood up for\nmy old teacher, and I am glad to say to the honour of English\nphilosophers, that the translation passed through several editions,\nand helped not a little to establish Lotze\u2019s position in England and\nAmerica. He died in 1881.\n\nIt is extraordinary how the young minds in German universities survive\nthe storms and fogs through which they have to pass in their academic\ncareer. I confess I myself felt quite bewildered for a time, and began\nto despair altogether of my reasoning powers. Why should I not be able\nto understand, I asked myself, what other people seemed to understand\nwithout any effort? We speak the same language, why should we not be\nable to think the same thought? I took refuge for a time in\nhistory\u2014the history of language, of religion, and of philosophy.\nThere was a very learned professor at Leipzig, Dr. Niedner, who\nlectured on the History of Greek Philosophy, and whose _Manual for the\nHistory of Philosophy_ has been of use to me through the whole of my\nlife. Socrates said of Heraclitus: \u201cWhat I have understood of his\nbook is excellent, and I suppose therefore that even what I have not\nunderstood is so too; but one must be a Delian swimmer not to be\ndrowned in it.\u201d I tried for a long time to follow this advice with\nregard to Hegel and Weisse, and though disheartened did not despair. I\nunderstood some of it, why should not the rest follow in time? Thus, I\nnever gave up the study of philosophy at Leipzig and afterwards at\nBerlin, and my first contributions to philosophical journals date from\nthat early time, when I was a student in the University of Leipzig. My\nvery earliest, though very unsuccessful, struggles to find an entrance\ninto the mysteries of philosophy date even from my school-days.\n\nI remember some years before, when I was quite young, perhaps no more\nthan fifteen years of age, listening with bated breath to some\nprofessors at Leipzig who were talking very excitedly about philosophy\nin my presence. I had no idea what was meant by philosophy, still less\ncould I follow when they began to discuss Kant\u2019s _Kritik der reinen\nVernunft_. One of my friends, whom I looked up to as a great\nauthority, confessed that he had read the book again and again, but\ncould not understand the whole of it. My curiosity was much excited,\nand once, while he was taking a walk with me, I asked him very timidly\nwhat Kant\u2019s book was about, and how a man could write a book that\nother men could not understand. He tried to explain what Kant\u2019s book\nwas about, but it was all perfect darkness before my eyes; I was\ntrying to lay hold of a word here and there, but it all floated before\nmy mind like mist, without a single ray of light, without any way out\nof all that maze of words. But when at last he said he would lend me\nthe book, I fell on it and pored over it hour after hour. The result\nwas the same. My little brain could not take in the simplest ideas of\nthe first chapters\u2014that space and time were nothing by themselves;\nthat we ourselves gave the form of space and time to what was given us\nby the senses. But though defeated I would not give in; I tried again\nand again, but of course it was all in vain. The words were here and I\ncould construe them, but there was nothing in my mind which the words\ncould have laid hold on. It was like rain on hard soil, it all ran\noff, or remained standing in puddles and muddles on my poor brain.\n\nAt last I gave it up in despair, but I had fully made up my mind that\nas soon as I went to the University I would find out what philosophy\nreally was, and what Kant meant by saying that space and time were\nforms of our sensuous intuition. I see that, accordingly, in the\nsummer of 1841, I attended lectures on Aesthetics by Professor Weisse,\non Anthropology by Lotze, and on Psychology by Professor Heinroth, and\nI slowly learnt to distinguish between what was going on within me,\nand what I had been led to imagine existed outside me, or at least\nquite independent of me. But before I had got a firm grasp of Kant,\nof his forms of intuition, and the categories of the understanding, I\nwas thrown into Hegelianism. This, too, was at first entire darkness,\nbut I was not disheartened. I attended Professor Weisse\u2019s lectures on\nHegel in the winter of 1841-2, and again in the winter of 1842-3 I\nattended his lectures on Logic and Metaphysics, and on the Philosophy\nof History. He took an interest in me, and I felt most strongly\nattracted by him. Soon after I joined his Philosophical Society, and\nlikewise that of Professor Drobisch. In these societies every member,\nwhen his turn came, had to write an essay and defend it against the\nprofessor and the other members of the society. All this was very\nhelpful, but it was not till I had heard a course of lectures on the\nHistory of Philosophy, by Professor Niedner, that my interest in\nPhilosophy became strong and healthy. While Weisse was a leading\nHegelian philosopher, and Drobisch represented the opposite philosophy\nof Herbart, Niedner was purely historical, and this appealed most to\nmy taste. Still, my philosophical studies remained very disjointed. At\nlast I was admitted to Lotze\u2019s Philosophical Society also, and here we\nchiefly read and discussed Kant\u2019s _Kritik_. Lotze was then quite a\nyoung man, undecided as yet himself between physical science and pure\nphilosophy.\n\nWeisse was certainly the most stirring lecturer, but his delivery was\nfearful. He did not read his lectures, as many professors did, but\nwould deliver them _extempore_. He had no command of language, and\nthere was a pause after almost every sentence. He was really thinking\nout the problem while he was lecturing; he was constantly repeating\nhis sentences, and any new thought that crossed his mind would carry\nhim miles away from his subject. It happened sometimes in these\nrhapsodies that he contradicted himself, but when I walked home with\nhim after his lecture to a village near Leipzig where he lived, he\nwould readily explain how it happened, how he meant something quite\ndifferent from what he had said, or what I had understood. In fact he\nwould give the whole lecture over again, only much more freely and\nmore intelligibly. I was fully convinced at that time that Hegel\u2019s\nphilosophy was the final solution of all problems; I only hesitated\nabout his philosophy of history as applied to the history of religion.\nI could not bring myself to admit that the history of religion, nor\neven the history of philosophy as we know it from Thales to Kant, was\nreally running side by side with his Logic, showing how the leading\nconcepts of the human mind, as elaborated in the Logic, had found\nsuccessive expression in the history and development of the schools of\nphilosophy as known to us. Weisse was strong both in his analysis of\nconcepts and in his knowledge of history, and though he taught Hegel\nas a faithful interpreter, he always warned us against trusting too\nmuch in the parallelism between Logic and History. Study the writings\nof the good philosophers, he would say, and then see whether they will\nor will not fit into the Procrustean bed of Hegel\u2019s Logic. And this\nwas the best lesson he could have given to young men. How well founded\nand necessary the warning was I found out myself, the more I studied\nthe religion and philosophies of the East, and then compared what I\nsaw in the original documents with the account given by Hegel in his\n_Philosophy of Religion_. It is quite true that Hegel at the time when\nhe wrote, could not have gained a direct or accurate knowledge of the\nprincipal religions of the East. But what I could not help seeing was\nthat what Hegel represented as the necessity in the growth of\nreligious thought, was far away from the real growth, as I had watched\nit in some of the sacred books of these religions. This shook my\nbelief in the correctness of Hegel\u2019s fundamental principles more than\nanything else.\n\nAt that time Herbart\u2019s philosophy, as taught by Drobisch at Leipzig,\ncame to me as a most useful antidote. The chief object of that\nphilosophy is, as is well known, the analysing and clearing, so to\nspeak, of our concepts. This was exactly what I wanted, only that\noccupied as I was with the problems of language, I at once translated\nthe object of his philosophy into a definition of words. Henceforth\nthe object of my own philosophical occupations was the accurate\ndefinition of every word. All words, such as reason, pure reason,\nmind, thought, were carefully taken to pieces and traced back, if\npossible, to their first birth, and then through their further\ndevelopments. My interest in this analytical process soon took an\nhistorical, that is etymological, character in so far as I tried to\nfind out why any words should now mean exactly what, according to our\ndefinition, they ought to mean. For instance, in examining such words\nas _Vernunft_ or _Verstand_, a little historical retrospect showed\nthat their distinction as reason and understanding was quite modern,\nand chiefly due to a scientific definition given and maintained by the\nKantian school of philosophy. Of course every generation has a right\nto define its philosophical terms, but from an historical point of\nview Kant might have used with equal right _Vernunft_ for _Verstand_,\nand _Verstand_ for _Vernunft_. Etymologically or historically both\nwords have much the same meaning. _Vernunft_, from _Vernehmen_, meant\noriginally no more than perception, while _Verstand_ meant likewise\nperception, but soon came to imply a kind of understanding, even a\nkind of technical knowledge, though from a purely etymological\nstandpoint it had nothing that fitted it more for carrying the\nmeaning, which is now assigned to it in German in distinction to\n_Vernunft_, than understanding had as distinguished from reason. It\nrequires, of course, a very minute historical research to trace the\nsteps by which such words as reason and understanding diverge in\ndifferent directions, in the language of the people and in\nphilosophical parlance. This teaches us a very important distinction,\nnamely that between the popular development of the meaning of a word,\nand its meaning as defined and asserted by a philosopher or by a poet\nin the plenitude of his power. Etymological definition is very useful\nfor the first stages in the history of a word. It is useful to know,\nfor instance, that _deus_, God, meant originally bright, bright\nwhether applied to sky, sun, moon, stars, dawn, morning, dayspring,\nspring of the year, and many other bright objects in nature, that it\nthus assumed a meaning common to them all, splendid, or heavenly,\nbeneficent, powerful, so that when in the Veda already we find a\nnumber of heavenly bodies, or of terrestrial bodies, or even of\nperiods of time called Devas, this word has assumed a more general,\nmore comprehensive, and more exalted meaning. It did not yet mean what\nthe Greeks called \u03b8\u03b5\u03bf\u1f31 or gods, but it meant something common to all\nthese \u03b8\u03b5\u03bf\u1f31, and thus could naturally rise to express what the Greeks\nwanted to express by that word. There was as yet no necessity for\ndefining deva or \u03b8\u03b5\u1f41\u03c2, when applied to what was meant by gods, but of\ncourse the most opposite meanings had clustered round it. While a\nphilosophical Greek would maintain that \u03b8\u03b5\u1f41\u03c2 meant what was one and\nnever many, a poetical Greek or an ordinary Greek would hold that it\nmeant what was by nature many. But while in such a case philosophical\nanalysis and historical genealogy would support each other, there are\never so many cases where etymological analysis is as hopeless as\nlogical analysis. Who is to define _romantic_, in such expressions as\nromantic literature. Etymologically we know that romantic goes back\nfinally to Rome, but the mass of incongruous meanings that have been\nthrown at random into the caldron of that word, is so great that no\ndefinition could be contrived to comprehend them all. And how should\nwe define _Gothic_ or _Romanic_ architecture, remembering that as no\nGoths had anything to do with pointed arches, neither were any Romans\nresponsible for the flat roofs of the German churches of the Saxon\nemperors.\n\nEnough to show what I meant when I said that Professor Drobisch, in\nhis Lectures on Herbart, gave one great encouragement in the special\nwork in which I was already engaged as a mere student, the Science of\nLanguage and Etymology. If Herbart declared philosophy to consist in a\nthorough examination (_Bearbeitung_) of concepts, or conceptual\nknowledge, my answer was, Only let it be historical, nay, in the\nbeginning, etymological; I was not so foolish as to imagine that a\nword as used at present, meant what it meant etymologically. _Deus_ no\nlonger meant brilliant, but it should be the object of the true\nhistorian of language to prove how _Deus_, having meant originally\nbrilliant, came to mean what it means now.\n\nFor a time I thought of becoming a philosopher, and that sounded so\ngrand that the idea of preparing for a mere schoolmaster, teaching\nGreek and Latin, seemed to me more and more too narrow a sphere. Soon,\nhowever, while dreaming of a chair of philosophy at a German\nUniversity, I began to feel that I must know something special,\nsomething that no other philosopher knew, and that induced me to learn\nSanskrit, Arabic, and Persian. I had only heard what we call in German\nthe chiming, not the striking of the bells of Indian philosophy; I had\nread Frederick Schlegel\u2019s explanatory book _\u00dcber die Sprache und\nWeisheit der Indier_ (1808), and looked into Windischmann\u2019s _Die\nPhilosophie im Fortgange der Weltgeschichte_ (1827-1834). These books\nare hardly opened now\u2014they are antiquated, and more than antiquated;\nthey are full of mistakes as to facts, and mistakes as to the\nconclusions drawn from them. But they had ushered new ideas into the\nworld of thought, and they left on many, as they did on me, that\nfeeling which the digger who prospects for minerals is said to have,\nthat there must be gold beneath the surface, if people would only dig.\nThat feeling was very vague as yet, and might have been entirely\ndeceptive, nor did I see my way to go beyond the point reached by\nthese two dreamers or explorers. The thought remained in the\nrubbish-chamber of my mind, and though forgotten at the time, broke\nforth again when there was an opportunity. It was a fortunate\ncoincidence that at that very time, in the winter of 1841, a new\nprofessorship was founded at Leipzig and given to Professor Brockhaus.\nUncertain as I was about the course I had to follow in my studies, I\ndetermined to see what there was to be learnt in Sanskrit. There was a\ncharm in the unknown, and, I must confess, a charm also in studying\nsomething which my friends and fellow students did not know. I called\non Professor Brockhaus, and found that there were only two other\nstudents to attend his lectures, one Spiegel, who already knew the\nelements of Sanskrit, and who is still alive in Erlangen,[9] as a\nfamous professor of Sanskrit and Zend, though no longer lecturing, and\nanother, Klengel; both several years my seniors, but both extremely\namiable to their younger fellow student. Klengel was a scholar, a\nphilosopher, and a musician, and though after a term or two he had to\ngive up his study of Sanskrit, he was very useful to me by his good\nadvice. He encouraged me and praised me for my progress in Sanskrit,\nwhich was no doubt more rapid than his own, and he confirmed me in my\nconviction that something might be made of Sanskrit by the philologist\nand by the philosopher. It should not be forgotten that at that time\nthere was a strong prejudice against Sanskrit among classical\nscholars. The number of men who stood up for it, though it included\nnames such as W. von Humboldt, F. and A. W. von Schlegel, was still\nvery small. Even Herder\u2019s and Goethe\u2019s prophetic words produced\nlittle effect. It is said that when the Government had been persuaded,\nchiefly by the two Humboldts, to found a chair of Sanskrit at the\nUniversity of W\u00fcrzburg, and had nominated Bopp as its first occupant,\nthe philological faculty of the University protested against such a\ndesecration, and the appointment fell through. It is true, no doubt,\nthat in their first enthusiasm the students of Sanskrit had uttered\nmany exaggerated opinions. Sanskrit was represented as the mother of\nall languages, instead of being the elder sister of the Aryan family.\nThe beginning of all language, of all thought, of all religion was\ntraced back to India, and when Greek scholars were told that Zeus\nexisted in the Veda under the name of Dyaus, there was a great flutter\nin the dovecots of classical scholarship. Many of these enthusiastic\nutterances had afterwards to be toned down. How we did enjoy those\nenthusiastic days, which even in their exaggerated hopes were not\nwithout some use. Problems such as the beginning of language, of\nthought, of mythology and religion, were started with youthful hope\nthat the Veda would solve them all, as if the Vedic Rishis had been\npresent at the first outburst of roots, of concepts, nay, that like\nPelops and other descendants of Zeus, those Vedic poets had enjoyed\ndaily intercourse with the gods, and had been present at the\nmutilation of Ouranos, or at the over-eating of Kronos. We may be\nashamed to-day of some of the dreams of the early spring of man\u2019s\nsojourn on earth, but they were enchanting dreams, and all our\nthoughts of man\u2019s nature and destiny on earth were tinged with the\ncolours of a morning that threw light over the grey darkness which\npreceded it. It was delightful to see that Dyaus meant originally the\nbright sky, something actually seen, but something that had to become\nsomething unseen. All knowledge, whether individual or possessed by\nmankind at large, must have begun with what the senses can perceive,\nbefore it could rise to signify something unperceived by the senses.\nOnly after the blue aether had been perceived and named, was it\npossible to conceive and speak of the sky as active, as an agent, as a\ngod. Dyaus or Zeus might thus be called the most sublime, he who\nresides in the aether, \u03b1\u1f30\u03b8\u1f11\u03c1\u03b9 \u03bd\u03b1\u1f31\u03c9\u03bd \u1f51\u03c8\u1f31\u03b6\u03c5\u03b3\u03bf\u03c2, the heavenly one, or\n\u03bf\u1f50\u03c1\u1f01\u03bd\u03b9\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f55\u03c0\u03b1\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2 and \u1f55\u03c8\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2, the highest, and at last _Iupiter Optimus\nMaximus_, a name applied even to the true God. When Zeus had once\nbecome like the sky, all seeing or omniscient (\u1f10\u03c0\u1f41\u03c8\u03b9\u03bf\u03c2), would he not\nnaturally be supposed to see, not only the good, but the evil deeds of\nmen also, nay, their very thoughts, whether pure or criminal? And if\nso, would he not be the avenger of evil, the watcher of oaths\n(\u1f45\u03c1\u03ba\u03b9\u03bf\u03c2), the protector of the helpless (\u1f31\u03ba\u1f11\u03c3\u03b9\u03bf\u03c2)? Yet, if conceived,\nas for a long time all the gods were conceived and could only be\nconceived, namely, as human in their shape, should we not necessarily\nget that strange amalgamation of a human being doing superhuman\nwork\u2014hurling the thunderbolt, shouting in thunder, hidden by dark\nclouds, and smiling in the serene blue of the sky with its brilliant\nscintillations? All this and much more became perfectly intelligible,\nthe step from the visible to the invisible, from the perceived to the\nconceived, from nature to nature\u2019s gods, and from nature\u2019s god to a\nmore sublime unseen and spiritual power. All this seemed to pass\nbefore our very eyes in the Veda, and then to be reflected in Homer\nand Pindar.\n\n  [9] Herr Geheimrath von Spiegel now lives at Munich.\n\nSome details of this restored picture of the world of gods and men in\nearly times, nay, in the very spring of time, may have to be altered,\nbut the picture, the eidyllion remained, and nothing could curb the\nadventurous spirit and keep it from pushing forward and trying to do\nwhat seemed to others almost impossible, namely, to watch the growth\nof the human mind as reflected in the petrifactions of language.\nLanguage itself spoke to us with a different voice, and a formerly\nunsuspected meaning.\n\nWe knew, for instance, that _ewig_ meant eternal, but whence eternal.\nNothing eternal was ever seen, and it seemed to the philosopher that\neternal could be expressed by a negation only, by a negation of what\nwas temporary. But we now learnt that _ewig_ was derived in word and\ntherefore in thought from the Gothic _aiwar_, time. _Ewigkeit_ was\ntherefore originally time, and \u201cfor all time\u201d came naturally to mean\n\u201cfor all eternity.\u201d Eternity also came from _aeternus_, that is\n_aeviternus_, for time, i. e. for all time, and thus for eternity,\nwhile _aevum_ meant life, lifetime, age. But now came the question, if\n_aevum_ shows the growth of this word, and its origin, and how it\narrives in the end at the very opposite pole, life and time coming to\nmean eternity, could we not by the same process discover the origin\nand growth of such short Greek words as \u1f00\u03b5\u1f31 and a\u1f30e\u1f31? It seems almost\nimpossible, yet remembering that _aevum_ meant originally life, we\nfind in Vedic Sanskrit _eva_, course, way, life, the same as _aevum_,\nwhile the Sanskrit _\u00e2yush_, likewise derived from _i_, to go, forms\nits locative _\u00e2yushi_. _\u00c2yushi_, or originally _\u00e2yasi_, would mean \u201cin\nlife, in time,\u201d and turned into Greek would regularly become then\na\u1f30e\u1f31, lifelong, or ever. It was not difficult to find fault with this\nand other etymologies, and to ask for an explanation of \u03b1\u1f30\u1f11\u03bd and \u03b1\u1f30\u1f11\u03c2,\nas derived from the same word _\u00e2yus_. It is curious that people will\nnot see that etymologies, and particularly the gradual development in\nthe form and meaning of words, can hardly ever be a matter of\nmathematical certainty.\n\nHistorical, nay, even individual, influences come in which prevent the\nscience of language from becoming purely mechanical. Pott, and\nCurtius, and others stood up against Bopp and Grimm, maintaining that\nthere could be nothing irregular in language, particularly in phonetic\nchanges. If this means no more than that under the same circumstances\nthe same changes will always take place, it would be of course a mere\ntruism. The question is only whether we can ever know all the\ncircumstances, and whether there are not some of these circumstances\nwhich cause what we are apt to call irregularities. When Bopp said\nthat Sanskrit _d_ corresponds to a Greek \u03b4, but often also to a Greek\n\u03b8, I doubt whether this is often the case. All I say is, if _deva_\ncorresponds to \u03b8\u03b5\u1f41\u03c2, we must try to find the reason or the\ncircumstances which caused so unusual a correspondence. If no more is\nmeant than that there must be a reason for all that seems irregular,\nno one would gainsay that, neither Bopp nor Grimm, and no one ever\ndoubted that as a principle. But to establish these reasons is the\nvery difficulty with which the Science of Language has to deal.\n\nThere is no word that has not an etymology, only if we consider the\ndistance of time that separates us from the historical facts we are\ntrying to account for, we should sometimes be satisfied with\nprobabilities and not always stipulate for absolute certainty. Many of\nBopp\u2019s, Grimm\u2019s, and Pott\u2019s etymologies have had to be surrendered,\nand yet our suzerainty over that distant country which they conquered,\nover the Aryan home, remains. If there is an etymology containing\nsomething irregular, and for which no reason has as yet been found, we\nmust wait till some better etymology can be suggested, or a reason be\nfound for that apparent irregularity. If the etymological meaning of\n_duhitar_, daughter, as milkmaid, is doubted, let us have a better\nexplanation, not a worse; but the general picture of the early family\namong the Aryans \u201csomewhere in Asia\u201d is not thereby destroyed. The\nfather, Sk. _pitar_, remains the protector or nourisher, though the\n_i_ for _a_ in _pater_ and \u03c0\u03b1\u03c4\u1f21\u03c1 is irregular. The mother, _m\u00e2tar_,\nremains the bearer of children, though _m\u00e2_ is no longer used in that\nsense in any of the Aryan languages. _Pati_ is the lord, the strong\none\u2014therefore the husband; _vadh\u00fb_, the yoke-fellow, or the wife as\nbrought home, possibly as carried off by force. _Vis_ or _vesa_ is the\nhome, \u03bf\u1f30\u03ba\u03bf\u03c2 or _vicus_, what was entered for shelter. _Svasura_,\n\u1f11\u03ba\u03c5\u03c1\u1f41\u03c2, _Socer_, the father-in-law, is the old man of the _svas_, the\n_famuli_, or the family, or the clients, though the first _s_ is\nirregular, and can be defended only on the ground of mistaken analogy.\n_Bhr\u00e2tar_, _frater_, brother, was the supporter; _svastar_, _soror_,\nsister, the comforter, &c.\n\nWhat do a few objections signify? The whole picture remains, as if we\ncould look into the _vesa_, the \u03bf\u1f30\u03ba\u03bf\u03c2 the _veih_, the home, the\nvillage of the ancient Aryans, and watch them, the _svas_, the people,\nin their mutual relations. Even compound words, such as _vis-pati_,\nlord of a family or a village, have been preserved to the present day\nin the Lithuanian _Veszpats_, lord, whether King or God. It is enough\nfor us to see that the relationship between husband and wife, between\nparents and children, between brothers and sisters, nay, even between\nchildren-in-law and parents-in-law, had been recognized and sanctified\nby names. That there are, and always will be, doubts and slight\ndifferences of opinion on these prehistoric thoughts and words, is\neasily understood. We were pleased for a long time to see in _vidua_,\nwidow, the Sanskrit _vidua_, i. e. without a man or a husband. We now\nderive _vi-dhav\u00e2_, widow, from _vidh_, to be separated, to be without\n(cf. _vido_ in _divido_, and Sk. _vidh_), but the picture of the Aryan\nfamily remains much the same.\n\nWhen these and similar antiquities were for the first time brought to\nlight by Bopp, Grimm, and Pott, what wonder that we young men should\nhave jumped at them, and shouted with delight, more even than the\ndiggers who dug up Babylonian palaces or Egyptian temples! No one did\nmore for these antiquarian finds and restorations than A. Kuhn, a\nsimple schoolmaster, but afterwards a most distinguished member of the\nBerlin Academy. How often did I sit with him in his study as he\nworked, surrounded by his Greek, Latin, and Sanskrit books. In later\ntimes also, when I had made some discoveries myself as to the\nmythological names or beings identical in Vedic and Greek writings,\nhow pleasant was it to see him rub his hands or shake his head. Long\nbefore I had published my identifications they were submitted to him,\nand he communicated to me his own guesses as I communicated mine to\nhim. Kuhn would never appropriate what belonged to anybody else, and\neven in cases where we agreed, he would always make it clear that we\nhad both arrived independently at the same result.\n\nIt is in the nature of things that every new generation of scholars\nshould perfect their tools, and with these discover flaws in the work\nleft by their predecessors. Still, what is the refined chiselling of\nlater scholars compared with the rough-hewn stones of men like Bopp or\nGrimm? If the Cyclopean stones of the Pelasgians are not like the\nfinished works of art by Phidias, what would the Parthenon be without\nthe walls ascribed to the Cyclops? It is the same in all sciences, and\nwe must try to be just, both to the genius of those who created, and\nto the diligence of those who polished and refined.\n\nFor all this, however, I met with but small sympathy and encouragement\nat Leipzig; nay, I had to be very careful in uttering what were\nsupposed to be heretical or unscholarlike opinions in the seminary of\nGottfried Hermann, or in the Latin society of Haupt. The latter\nparticularly, though he knew very well how much light had been spread\non the growth of language by the researches of Bopp, Grimm, and Pott,\nand though Grimm was his intimate friend of whom he always spoke with\nreal veneration, could not bear his own pupils dabbling in this\nsubject. And of course at that time my knowledge of comparative\nphilology was a mere dabbling. If he could discover a false quantity\nin any etymology, great was his delight, and his sarcasm truly\nwithering, particularly as it was poured out in very classical Latin.\nGottfried Hermann was a different character. He saw there was a new\nlight and he would not turn his back to it. He knew how lightly his\nantagonist, Otfried M\u00fcller, valued Sanskrit in his mythological\nessays, and he set to work, and in one of his last academical programs\nactually gave the paradigms of Sanskrit verbs as compared with those\nof Greek. He saw that the coincidences between the two could not be\ncasual, and if they were so overwhelming in the mere termination of\nverbs, what might we not expect in words and names, even in\nmythological names? He by no means discouraged me, nay, he was sorry\nto lose me, when in my third year I went to Berlin. He showed me great\nkindness on several occasions, and when the time came to take my\ndegree of M.A. and Ph.D., he, as Dean of the Faculty, invited me to\nreturn to Leipzig, offering me an exhibition to cover the expenses of\nthe Degree.\n\n  [Illustration: F. MAX M\u00dcLLER _Aged Twenty_]\n\nMy wish to go to Berlin arose partly from a desire to hear Bopp, but\nyet more from a desire to make the acquaintance of Schelling. My\ninclination towards philosophy had become stronger and stronger; I had\nmy own ideas about the mythological as a necessary form of ancient\nphilosophy, and when I saw that the old philosopher had advertised his\nlectures or lecture on mythology, I could not resist, and went to\nBerlin in 1844. I must say at once that Professor Bopp, though he was\nextremely kind to me, was at that time, if not old\u2014he was only\nfifty-three\u2014very infirm. In his lectures he simply read his\n_Comparative Grammar_ with a magnifying glass, and added very little\nthat was new. He lent me some manuscripts which he had copied in Latin\nin his younger days, but I could not get much help from him when I\ncame to really difficult passages. This, I confess, puzzled me at the\ntime, for I looked on every professor as omniscient. The time comes,\nhowever, when we learn that even at fifty-three a man may have\nforgotten certain things, nay, may have let many books and new\ndiscoveries even in his own subject pass by, because he has plenty to\ndo with his own particular studies. We remember the old story of the\nprofessor who, when charged by a young and rather impertinent student\nwith not knowing this or that, replied: \u201cSir, I have forgotten more\nthan you ever knew.\u201d And so it is indeed. Human nature and human\nmemory are very strong during youth and manhood, but even at fifty\nthere is with many people a certain decline of mental vigour that\ntells chiefly on the memory. Things are not exactly forgotten, but\nthey do not turn up at the right time. They just leave a certain\nknowledge of where the missing information can be found; they leave\nalso a kind of feeling that the ground is not quite safe and that we\nmust no longer trust entirely to our memory. In one respect this\nfeeling is very useful, for instead of writing down anything, trusting\nto our memory as we used to do, we feel it necessary to verify many\nthings which formerly were perfectly clear and certain in our memory\nwithout such reference to books.\n\nI remember being struck with the same thing in the case of Professor\nWilson, the well-known Oxford Professor of Sanskrit. He was kind\nenough to read with me, and I certainly was often puzzled, not only by\nwhat he knew, but also by what he had forgotten. I feel now that I\nmisjudged him, and that his open declaration, \u201cI don\u2019t know, let us\nlook it up,\u201d really did him great honour. I still have in my\npossession a portion of P\u00e2nini\u2019s Vedic grammar translated by him. I\nput by the side of it my own translation, and he openly acknowledged\nthat mine, with the passages taken from the Veda, was right. There was\nno humbug about Wilson. He never posed as a scholar; nay, I remember\nhis saying to me more than once, \u201cYou see, I am not a scholar, I am a\ngentleman who likes Sanskrit, and that is all.\u201d He certainly did like\nSanskrit, and he knew it better than many a professor, but in his own\nway. He had enjoyed the assistance of really learned Pandits, and he\nnever forgot to record their services. But he had himself cleared the\nground\u2014he had really done original work. In fact, he had done nothing\nbut original work, and then he was abused for not having always found\nat the first trial what others discovered when standing on his\nshoulders. Again, he was found fault with for not having had a\nclassical education. His education was, I believe, medical, but when\nonce in the Indian Civil Service, he made himself useful in many ways,\neducational and otherwise. When he left India he was Master of the\nMint. Such a man might not know Greek and Latin like F. A. von\nSchlegel, or any other professor, but he knew his own subject, and it\nis simply absurd if classical scholars imagine that anybody can carry\non his Greek and Latin and at the same time make himself a perfect\nscholar in Sanskrit. Such a feeling is natural among small\nschoolmasters, but it is dying out at last among real scholars. I have\nknown very good Sanskrit scholars who knew no Greek at all, and very\nlittle Latin. And I have also known Greek scholars who knew no\nSanskrit and yet attempted comparisons between the two. When Lepsius\nwas made a Member of the Berlin Academy, Lachmann, who ought to have\nknown better, used to say of him: \u201cHe knows many things which nobody\nknows, but he also is ignorant of many things which everybody knows.\u201d\nSuch remarks never speak well for the man who makes them.\n\nAnother disadvantage from which the aged scholar suffers is that he is\nblamed for not having known in his youth what has been discovered in\nhis old age, and is still violently assailed for opinions he may have\nuttered fifty years ago. When quite a young man I wrote, at Baron\nBunsen\u2019s request, a long letter on the Turanian Languages. It was\npublished in 1854, but it still continues to be criticized as if it\nhad been published last year. Of course, considering the rapid advance\nof linguistic studies, a great part of that letter became antiquated\nlong ago; but at the time of its first appearance it contained nearly\nall that could then be known on these allophylian, that is, non-Aryan\nand non-Semitic languages; and I may, perhaps, quote the opinion of\nProfessor Pott, no mean authority at that time, who, after severely\ncriticizing my letter, declared that it belonged to the most important\npublications that had appeared on linguistic subjects for many years.\nAnd yet, though I have again and again protested that I could not\npossibly have known in 1854 what has been discovered since as to a\nnumber of these Turanian languages, everybody who writes on any of\nthem seems to be most anxious to show that in 1894 he knows more than\nI did in 1854. No astronomer is blamed for not having known the planet\nNeptune before its discovery in 1846, or for having been wrong in\naccounting for the irregularities of Saturn. But let that pass; I only\nshare the fate of others who have lived too long.\n\nAfter all, all our knowledge, whatever show we may make of it, is very\nimperfect, and the more we know the better we learn how little it is\nthat we do know, and how much of unexplored country there is beyond\nthe country which we have explored. We must judge a man by what he has\ndone\u2014by his own original work. There are many scholars, and very\nuseful they are in their own way, but if their books are examined, one\neasily finds the stores from which they borrowed their materials. They\nmay add some notes of their own and even some corrections,\nparticularly corrections of the authors from whom they have borrowed\nmost; but at the end where is the fresh ore that they have raised;\nwhere is the gold they have extracted and coined? There are cases\nwhere the original worker is quite forgotten, whereas the retailers\nflourish. Well, facts are facts, whether known or not known, and the\ntriumphal chariot of truth has to be dragged along by many hands and\nmany shoulders.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nPARIS\n\n\nMy stay in Paris from March, 1845, to June, 1846, was a very useful\nintermezzo. It opened my mind and showed me a new world; showed me, in\nfact, that there was a world besides Germany, though even of Germany\nand German society I had seen as yet very little. I had been working\naway at school and university, but with the exception of my short stay\nin Berlin, I had little experience of men and manners outside the\nsmall sphere of Dessau and Leipzig.\n\nI had been at Berlin some nine months when, in December, 1844, my old\nfriend Baron Hagedorn came to see me, and invited me to spend some\ntime with him in Paris. He had his own apartments there, and promised\nto look after me. At the same time my cousin, Baroness Stolzenberg,\nwhom I have mentioned before as wishing me to enter the Austrian\ndiplomatic service, offered to send me to England at her expense as a\nteacher. I hesitated for some days between these two offers. I knew\nthat my own patrimony had been nearly spent at Leipzig and Berlin, and\nthe time had come for me to begin to support myself; and how was I to\ndo that in Paris? On the other hand, I had long felt that for\ncontinuing my Sanskrit studies a stay in Paris, and later perhaps in\nLondon also, was indispensable. I had also to consider the feelings of\nmy mother, whose whole heart was absorbed in her only son. However,\nSanskrit, and my love of an independent life won the day, and I\ndecided to accept Hagedorn\u2019s proposal. My mind once made up, I wanted\nto be off at once, but Hagedorn could not fix the exact time when he\nwould be free to leave, and told me to keep myself in readiness to\nstart whenever he found himself free to go. I accordingly went to stay\nwith my mother and my married sister at Chemnitz, and indulged in\nidleness and the unwonted dissipations of parties, dances, and long\nskating expeditions. At last, feeling I could not afford to wait any\nlonger, I went off to Dessau to see Hagedorn, and found to my great\ndisappointment that he was detained by important legal business in\nconnection with his property near Munich, and could not yet fix a date\nfor his departure. So it was settled that I was to go on to Paris\nwithout him, and instal myself in his apartment, 25, Rue Royale St.\nHonor\u00e9.\n\nI got my passport wherein I was carefully described with all my\nparticular marks, and started off on my foreign travels. At first all\nwent well. I stopped a few days at Bonn, and again at Brussels, where\nI had my first experience of hearing a foreign language spoken round\nme, and found that my French was sadly deficient. But from Brussels\non, my experiences were anything but agreeable. The journey to Paris\ntook twenty-four hours, and we travelled day and night without any\nstop for meals. Most of the passengers were well provided with food\nand wine, but had it not been for the kindness of some old ladies, my\nfellow-travellers, I should really have starved. When we crossed the\nfrontier the luggage of all passengers was carefully examined. But the\n_douanier_, in trying to open my portmanteau, broke the lock, and then\nbegan a fearful cursing and swearing. I was perfectly helpless. I\ncould hardly understand what the French _douaniers_ said, still less\nmake them understand what I had to say. They had done the damage, but\nwould do nothing to remedy it. The train would not wait, and I should\ncertainly have been left behind if the other travellers had not taken\nmy part, and I was allowed to go on to Paris. I looked a mere boy,\nvery harmless, not at all the clever smuggler the officials took me to\nbe. If they had forced the portmanteau open they would have found\nnothing but the most essential wearing apparel and a few books and\npapers all in Sanskrit.\n\nBut my miseries were not yet over, on the contrary, they became much\nworse. On my arrival in Paris I got a _fiacre_ and told the man to\ndrive to 25, Rue St. Honor\u00e9; _Royale_ I considered of no importance;\nbut, alas! at the right number of the Rue St. Honor\u00e9, the _concierge_\nstared at me, telling me that no Baron Hagedorn lived there. Try\nFaubourg St. Honor\u00e9, they said, but here the same thing happened. And\nall this was on a rainy afternoon, I being tired out with travelling\nand fasting, and perfectly overwhelmed by the immensity of Paris. I\nknew nobody at Paris, having trusted for all such things to Baron\nHagedorn, in fact I was _au d\u00e9sespoir_. Then as I was driving along\nthe Boulevard des Italiens, looking out of window, I saw a familiar\nfigure\u2014a little hunchback whom I had known at Dessau, where he\nstudied music under Schneider. It was M. Gathy, a man well known by\nhis musical writings, particularly his _Dictionary of Music_. I\nshrieked Gathy! Gathy! and he was as much surprised when he recognized\nthe little boy from Dessau, as I was when in this vast Paris I\ndiscovered at last a face which I knew. I jumped out of my carriage,\ntold Gathy all that had happened to me, being all the time between\ncomplete despair and perfect delight. He knew Hagedorn and his rooms\nvery well. It was the Rue Royale St. Honor\u00e9. The _concierge_ was quite\nprepared for my arrival, and took us both to the rooms which were _au\ncinqui\u00e8me_, but large and extremely well furnished. I was so tired\nthat I lay down on the sofa, and called out in my best French,\n_Donnez-moi quelque chose \u00e0 manger et \u00e0 boire_. This was not so easily\ndone as said, but at last, after toiling up and down five flights of\nstairs, he brought me what I wanted; I restored myself in the true\nsense of the word, and then began to discuss the most necessary\nmatters with M. Gathy. He was the most charming of men, half German,\nhalf French, full of _esprit_, and, what was more important to me,\nfull of real kindness and love. As soon as I saw him I felt I was\nsafe, and so I was, though I had still some battles to fight. First of\nall, I had taken but little money with me, looking upon Hagedorn as my\nbanker. Fortunately I remembered the name of one of his friends, about\nwhom Hagedorn had often spoken to me and who was in Rothschild\u2019s Bank.\nI went there to find that he was away, but another gentleman there\ntold me that I could have as much as I liked till Hagedorn or his\nfriend came back. So I was lucky, unlucky as I had been before.\n\nThe next step I had to consider was what I should do for my breakfast,\nluncheon, and dinner. Breakfast I could have at home, but for the\nother meals I had to go out and get what I wanted wherever I could. It\nwas not always what I wanted, for it had to be cheap, and even a\ndinner _\u00e0 deux francs_ in the Palais Royal seemed to me extravagant. I\nbecame more knowing by-and-by, and discovered smaller and simpler\nrestaurants, where Frenchmen dined and had arranged for a less showy\nbut more wholesome diet.\n\nThe impression that my first experience of life in one of the great\ncapitals of the world made on me is still fresh in my memory. My\nprincipal amusement at first was to go on voyages of discovery through\nthe town. The beauty of the city itself, and the rush and crowd in\nthe streets delighted me, and I remember specially a few days after my\narrival, when I went to watch \u201cle tout Paris\u201d going out to the races\nat Longchamps, that I was so struck by the difference between these\nstreets full of equipages of all sorts, ladies in resplendent dresses,\nand well-groomed gentlemen, and the quiet streets that I had been\naccustomed to in Dessau and Leipzig, that I could hardly keep myself\nfrom laughing out loud. However, when the novelty wore off there was\nanother contrast that struck me, and made me more inclined to cry this\ntime than to laugh, and that was, that while at home I knew almost\nevery face I passed, here in these crowds I was a stranger and knew no\none, and I suffered cruelly from the solitude at first.\n\nI began my work, however, at once, and on the third day after my\narrival I was at the Biblioth\u00e8que Royale armed with a letter of\nintroduction from Humboldt, and the very next day was already at work\ncollating the MSS. of the _Kathaka Upanishad_. I had also to devote\nsome hours daily to the study of French; for, much as I grudged these\nhours, I fully realized that in order to get full advantage from my\nstay in Paris, I must first master French.\n\nNext came the great question, how to make the acquaintance of Burnouf.\nI did not know the world. I did not know whether I should write to him\nfirst, in what language, and to what address. I knew Burnouf from his\nbooks, and I felt a desperate respect for him. After a time Gathy\ndiscovered his address for me, and I summoned up courage to call on\nhim. My French was very poor as yet, but I walked in and found a dear\nold gentleman in his _robe de chambre_, surrounded by his books and\nhis children\u2014four little daughters who were evidently helping him in\ncollecting and alphabetically arranging a number of slips on which he\nhad jotted down whatever had struck him as important in his reading\nduring the day. He received me with great civility, such as I had not\nbeen accustomed to before. He spoke of some little book which I had\npublished, and inquired warmly after my teachers in Germany, such as\nBrockhaus, Bopp, and Lassen. He told me I might attend his lectures in\nthe Coll\u00e8ge de France, and he would always be most happy to give me\nadvice and help.\n\nI at once felt perfect trust in the man, and was really _aux cieux_ to\nhave found such an adviser. He was, indeed, a fine specimen of the\nreal French savant. He was small, and his face was decidedly German,\nwith the _t\u00eate carr\u00e9e_ which one sees so often in Germany, only\nlighted up by a constant sparkle, which is distinctively French. I\nmust have seemed very stupid to him when I tried to explain to him\nwhat I really wanted to do in Paris. He told me himself afterwards\nthat he could not make me out at first. I wanted to study the Veda,\nbut I had told him at the same time that I thought the Vedic hymns\nvery stupid, and that I cared chiefly for their philosophy, that is,\nthe Upanishads. This was really not true, but it came up first in\nconversation, and I thought it would show Burnouf that my interest in\nthe Veda was not simply philological, but philosophical also. No doubt\nat first I chiefly copied the Upanishads and their commentaries, but\nBurnouf was not pleased. \u201cWe know what is in the Upanishads,\u201d he used\nto say, \u201cbut we want the hymns and their native comments.\u201d I soon came\nto understand what he meant; I carefully attended his lectures, which\nwere on the hymns of the Rig-veda and opened an entirely new world to\nmy mind. We had the first book of the Rig-veda as published by Rosen,\nand Burnouf\u2019s explanations were certainly delightful. He spoke freely\nand conversationally in his lectures, and one could almost assist at\nthe elaboration of his thoughts. His audience was certainly small;\nthere was nothing like Renan\u2019s eloquence and wit. But Burnouf had ever\nso many new facts to communicate to us. He explained to us his own\nresearches, he showed us new MSS. which he had received from India, in\nfact he did all he could to make us fellow workers. Often did he tell\nus to look up some passage in the Veda, to compare and copy the\ncommentaries, and to let him have the result of our researches at the\nnext lecture. All this was very inspiriting, particularly as Burnouf,\nupon examining our work, was very generous in his approval, and quite\nready, if we had failed, to point out to us new sources that should\nbe examined. He never asserted his own authority, and if ever we had\nfound out something which he had not known before, he was delighted to\nlet us have the full credit for it. After all, it was a new and\nunknown country, that had to be explored and mapped out, and even a\nnovice might sometimes find a grain of gold.\n\nHis select class contained some good men. There were Barth\u00e9lemy St.\nHilaire, the famous translator of Aristotle, and for a time Minister\nof Foreign Affairs in France, the Abb\u00e9 Bardelli, R. Roth, Th.\nGoldst\u00fccker, and a few more.\n\nBarth\u00e9lemy St. Hilaire was a personal friend of Burnouf, and came to\nthe Coll\u00e8ge de France not so much to learn Sanskrit as to hear\nBurnouf\u2019s lucid exposition of ancient Indian religion and philosophy.\nBardelli was a regular Italian Abb\u00e9, studying Sanskrit at Paris, but\nchiefly interested in Coptic. He was, like St. Hilaire, much my\nsenior, but we became great friends, and he once confided to me what\nhad certainly puzzled me\u2014his reasons for becoming an ecclesiastic. He\nhad been deeply in love with a young lady; his love was returned, but\nhe was too poor to marry, and she was persuaded and almost forced to\nmarry a rich man. Dear old Abb\u00e9, always taking snuff while he told me\nhis agonies, and then finishing up by saying that he became a priest\nso as to put an end for ever to his passion. Who would have suspected\nsuch a background to his jovial face? I don\u2019t know how it was that\npeople, much my seniors, so often confided to me their secret\nsufferings. I may have to mention some other cases, and I feel that\nafter my friends are gone, and so many years have passed over their\ngraves, there is no indiscretion in speaking of their confidences. It\nmay possibly teach us to remember how much often lies buried under a\ngrave bright with flowers. I saw Bardelli\u2019s own grave many years later\nin the famous cemetery at Pisa. R. Roth and Th. Goldst\u00fccker were both\nstrenuous Sanskrit scholars. Both owed much to Burnouf, Roth even more\nthan Goldst\u00fccker, though the latter has perhaps more frequently spoken\nof what he owed to Burnouf. Roth was my senior by several years, and\nengaged in much the same work as myself. But we never got on well\ntogether. It is curious from what small things and slight impressions\nour likes and dislikes are often formed. I have heard men give as a\nreason for disliking some one, that he had forgotten to pay half a\ncab-fare. So in Roth\u2019s case, I never got over a most ordinary\nexperience. He and two other young students and myself, having to\ncelebrate some festal occasion, had ordered a good luncheon at a\nrestaurant. To me with my limited means this was a great extravagance,\nbut I could not refuse to join. Roth, to my great surprise and, I may\nadd, being very fond of oysters, annoyance, took a very unfair share\nof that delicacy, and whenever I met him in after life, whether in\nperson or in writing, this incident would always crop up in my mind;\nand when later on he offered to join me in editing the Rig-veda, I\ndeclined, perhaps influenced by that early impression which I could\nnot get rid of. I blame myself for so foolish a prejudice, but it\nshows what creatures of circumstance we are.\n\nWith Goldst\u00fccker I was far more intimate. He was some years older than\nmyself and quite independent as far as money went. He knew how small\nmy means were, and would gladly have lent me money. But through the\nwhole of my life I never borrowed from my friends, or in fact from\nanybody, though I was forced sometimes when very hard up for ready\nmoney, and when I knew that money was due to me but had not arrived\nwhen I expected it, to apply to some friend for a temporary advance. I\nwill try and recall the lines in which I once applied to Gathy for\nsuch a loan.\n\n    Versuch\u2019 ich\u2019s wohl, mein herzgeliebter Gathy,\n    Mit schmeichelndem Sonnet Sie anzupumpen?\n    Ich bitte nicht um schwere Goldesklumpen,\n    Ich bitte nur um etliche Ducati.\n    Auch zahl\u2019 ich wieder ultimo Monati.\n    Auf Wiedersehn bei Morel und Frascati\n    Und Nachsicht f\u00fcr den Brief, den allzu plumpen!\n    Zwar reiche Nabobs sind die braven Inder,\n    Doch arme Teufel die Indianisten!\n    Reich sind hienieden schon die Heiden-Kinder,\n    Doch selig werden nur die armen Christen!\n    Reimsucher bin ich, doch kein Reimefinder,\n    Und _sans critique_ sind all die Sanscritisten.\n\nThis kind of negotiating a loan I have to confess to, but the idea of\nborrowing money, without knowing when I could repay it, never entered\nmy mind. Relations who could have helped me I had none, and nothing\nremained to me but to work for others. Indeed my want of money soon\nbegan to cause me very serious anxiety in Paris. Little as I spent, my\nfunds became lower and lower. I did not, like many other scholars,\nreceive help from my Government. I had mapped out my course for\nmyself, and instead of taking to teaching on leaving the University,\nhad settled to come to Paris and continue my Sanskrit studies, and it\nwas in my own hands whether I should swim or sink. It was, indeed, a\nhard struggle, far harder than those who have known me in later life\nwould believe. All I could do to earn a little money was to copy and\ncollate MSS. for other people. I might indeed have given private\nlessons, but I have always had a strong objection to that form of\ndrudgery, and would rather sit up a whole night copying than give an\nhour to my pupils. My plan was as follows: to sit up the whole of one\nnight, to take about three hours\u2019 rest the next night, but without\nundressing, and then to take a good night\u2019s rest the third night, and\nstart over again. It was a hard fight, and cannot have been very good\nfor me physically, but I do not regret it now.\n\nOften did I go without my dinner, being quite satisfied with boiled\neggs and bread and butter, which I could have at home without toiling\ndown and toiling up five flights of stairs that led to my room.\nSometimes I went with some of my young friends _hors de la barri\u00e8re_,\nthat is, outside Paris, outside the barrier where the _octroi_ has to\nbe paid on meat, wine, &c. Here the food was certainly better for the\nprice I could afford to pay, but the society was sometimes peculiar. I\nremember once seeing a strange lady sitting not very far from me, who\nwas the well-known Louve of Eug\u00e8ne Sue\u2019s _Myst\u00e8res de Paris_. One of\nmy companions on these expeditions was Karl de Schloezer, who was then\nstudying Arabic in Paris. He was always cheerful and amusing, and a\ndelightful companion. He knew much more of the world than I did, and\noften surprised me by his diplomatic wisdom. \u201cLet us stand up for each\nother,\u201d he said one day; \u201cyou say all the good you can of me, I saying\nall the good I can of you.\u201d I became very fierce at the time, charging\nhim with hypocrisy and I do not know what. He, however, took it all in\ngood part, and we remained friends all the time he was at Paris, and\nindeed to the day of his death. He was very fond of music, but I was,\nperhaps, the better performer on the pianoforte. He had invited me, a\nviolin, and violoncello, to play some of Mozart\u2019s and Beethoven\u2019s\nSonatas. Alas! when we found that he murdered his part, I sat down and\nplayed the whole evening, leaving him to listen, not, I fear, in the\nbest of moods. He took his revenge, however; and the next time he\nasked me and the two other musicians to his room, we found indeed\neverything ready for us to play, but our host was nowhere to be found.\nHe maintained that he had been called away; I am certain, however,\nthat the little trick was played on purpose.\n\nHe afterwards entered the Prussian diplomatic service and was the\nprot\u00e9g\u00e9 of the Princess of Prussia, afterwards the Empress of Germany.\nThat was enough to make Bismarck dislike him, and when Schloezer\nserved as Secretary of Legation under Bismarck as Ambassador at St.\nPetersburg, he committed the outrage of challenging his chief to a\nduel. Bismarck declined, nor would it, according to diplomatic\netiquette, have been possible for him not to decline. Later on,\nhowever, Schloezer was placed _en disponibilit\u00e9_, that is to say, he\nwas politely dismissed. He had to pay a kind of farewell visit to\nBismarck, who was then omnipotent. Being asked by Bismarck what he\nintended to do, and whether he could be of any service to him,\nSchloezer said very quietly, \u201cYes, your Excellency, I shall take to\nwriting my Memoirs, and you know that I have seen much in my time\nwhich many people will be interested to learn.\u201d Bismarck was quiet for\na time, looking at some papers, and then remarked quite unconcernedly,\n\u201cYou would not care to go to the United States as Minister?\u201d \u201cI am\nready to go to-morrow,\u201d replied Schloezer, and having carried his\npoint, having in fact outwitted Bismarck, he started at once for\nWashington. Bismarck knew that Schloezer could wield a sharp pen, and\nthere was a time when he was sensitive to such pen-pricks. They did\nnot see much of each other afterwards, but, owing to the protection of\nthe Empress, Schloezer was later accredited as Prussian envoy to the\nPope, and died too soon for his friends in beautiful Italy.\n\nOne of my oldest friends at Paris was a Baron d\u2019Eckstein, a kind of\ndiplomatic agent who knew everybody in Paris, and wrote for the\nnewspapers, French and German. He had, I believe, a pension from the\nFrench Government, and was, as a Roman Catholic, strongly allied with\nthe Clerical Party. This did not concern me. What concerned me was his\nlove of Sanskrit and the ancient religion of India. He would sit with\nme for hours, or take me to dine with him at a restaurant, discussing\nall the time the Vedas and the Upanishad and the Vedanta philosophy.\nThere are several articles of his written at this time in the _Journal\nAsiatique_, and I was especially grateful to him, for he gave me\nplenty of work to do, particularly in the way of copying Sanskrit MSS.\nfor him, and he paid me well and so helped me to keep afloat in Paris.\nKnowing as he did everybody, he was very anxious to introduce me to\nhis friends, such as George Sand, Lamennais, the Comtesse d\u2019Agoult\n(Daniel Stern), Lamartine, Victor Hugo, and others; but I much\npreferred half an hour with him or with Burnouf to paying formal\nvisits. I heard afterwards many unkind things about Baron\nd\u2019Eckstein\u2019s political and clerical opinions, but though in becoming a\nconvert to Roman Catholicism he may have shown weakness, and as a\npolitical writer may have been influenced by his near friends and\npatrons, I never found him otherwise than kind, tolerant, and\ntrustworthy. His life was to have been written by Professor\nWindischmann, but he too died; and who knows what may have become of\nthe curious memoirs which he left? At the time of the February\nrevolution in 1848, he was in the very midst of it. He knew Lamartine,\nwho was the hero of the day, though of a few days only. He attended\nmeetings with Lamartine, Odilon, Barrot, and others, and he assured me\nthat there would be no revolution, because nobody was prepared for it.\n\nLamartine who had been asked by his friends, all of them royalists and\nfriends of order, whether he would, in case of necessity, undertake to\nform a ministry under the Duchesse d\u2019Orl\u00e9ans as regent, scouted such\nan idea at first, but at last promised to be ready if he were wanted.\nThe time came sooner than he expected, and the Duchesse d\u2019Orl\u00e9ans\ncounted on him when she went to the Chamber and her Regency was\nproclaimed. Lamartine was then so popular that he might have saved the\nsituation. But the mob broke into the Chamber, shots were fired, and\nthere was no Lamartine. The Duchesse d\u2019Orl\u00e9ans had to fly, and\nfortunately escaped under the protection of the Duc de Nemours, the\nonly son of Louis Philippe then in Paris, and the dynasty of the\nOrl\u00e9ans was lost\u2014never to return. Baron d\u2019Eckstein lost many of his\ninfluential friends at that time, possibly his pension also, but he\nhad enough to live upon, and he died at last as a very old man in a\nRoman Catholic monastery, a most interesting and charming man, whose\nmemoirs would certainly have been very valuable.\n\nBut to return to Burnouf, I never can adequately express my debt of\ngratitude to him. He was of the greatest assistance to me in clearing\nmy thoughts and directing them into one channel. \u201cEither one thing or\nthe other,\u201d he said. \u201cEither study Indian philosophy and begin with\nthe Upanishads and Sankara\u2019s commentary, or study Indian religion and\nkeep to the Rig-veda, and copy the hymns and S\u00e2yana\u2019s commentary, and\nthen you will be our great benefactor.\u201d A great benefactor! that was\ntoo much for me, a mere dwarf in the presence of giants. But Burnouf\u2019s\nwords confirmed me more and more in my desire to give myself up to the\nVeda.\n\nBurnouf told me not only what Vedic MSS. there were at the\nBiblioth\u00e8que Royale, he also brought me his own MSS. and lent them to\nme to copy, with the condition, however, that I should not smoke while\nworking at them. He himself did not smoke, and could not bear the\nsmell of smoke, and he showed me several of his MSS. which had become\nquite useless to him, because they smelt of stale tobacco smoke. I\ndid all I could to guard these sacred treasures against such\nprofanation.\n\nAnother and even more useful warning came to me from Burnouf. \u201cDon\u2019t\npublish extracts from the commentary only,\u201d he said; \u201cif you do, you\nwill publish what is easy to read, and leave out what is difficult.\u201d I\ncertainly thought that extracts would be sufficient, but I soon found\nout that here also Burnouf was right, though there was always the fear\nthat I should never find a publisher for so immense a work. This fear\nI confided to Burnouf, but he always maintained his hopeful view. \u201cThe\ncommentary must be published, depend upon it, and it will be,\u201d he\nsaid.\n\nSo I stuck to it and went on copying and collating my Sanskrit MSS.,\nalways trusting that a publisher would turn up at the proper time. I\nhad, of course, to do all the drudgery for myself, and I soon found\nout that it was not in human nature, at least not in my nature, to\ncopy Sanskrit from a MS. even for three or four hours without\nmistakes. To my great disappointment I found mistakes whenever I\ncollated my copy with the original. I found that like the copyists of\nclassical MSS. my eye had wandered from one line to another where the\nsame word occurred, that I had left out a word when the next word\nended with the same termination, nay that I had even left out whole\nlines. Hence I had either to collate my own copy, which was very\ntedious, or invent some new process. This new process I discovered by\nusing transparent paper, and thus tracing every letter. I had some\nexcellent _papier v\u00e9g\u00e9tal_ made for me, and, instead of copying,\ntraced the whole Sanskrit MS. This had the great advantage that\nnothing could be left out, and that when the original was smudged and\ndoubtful I could carefully trace whatever was clear and visible\nthrough the transparent paper. At first I confess my work was slow,\nbut soon it went as rapidly as copying, and it was even less fatiguing\nto the eyes than the constant looking from the MS. to the copy, and\nfrom the copy to the MS. But the most important advantage was, that I\ncould thus feel quite certain that nothing was left out, so that even\nnow, after more than fifty years, these tracings are as useful to me\nas the MS. itself. There was room left between the lines or on the\nmargin to note the various readings of other MSS.; in fact, my\nmaterials grew both in extent and in value.\n\nStill there remained the question of a publisher. To print the\nRig-veda in six volumes quarto of about a thousand pages each, and to\nprovide the editor with a living wage during the many years he would\nhave to devote to his task, required a large capital. I do not know\nexactly how much, but what I do know is that, when a second edition of\nthe text of the Veda in four volumes was printed at the expense of the\nMaharajah of Vizianagram, it cost that generous and patriotic prince\nfour thousand pounds, though I then gave my work gratuitously.\n\nWhile I was working at the Biblioth\u00e8que Royale, Humboldt had used his\npowerful influence with the king of Prussia, Frederick William IV, to\nhelp me in publishing my edition of the Rig-veda in Germany. Nothing,\nhowever, came of that plan; it proved too costly for any private\npublisher, even with royal assistance.\n\nThen came a vague offer from St. Petersburg. Boehtlingk, the great\nSanskrit scholar, as a member of the Imperial Russian Academy, invited\nme to come to St. Petersburg and print the Veda there, in\ncollaboration with himself, and at the expense of the Academy. Burnouf\nand Goldst\u00fccker both warned me against accepting this offer, but,\nhopeless as I was of getting my Veda published elsewhere, I expressed\nmy willingness to go on condition that some provision should be made\nfor me before I decided to migrate to Russia, as I possessed\nabsolutely nothing but what I was able to earn myself. Boehtlingk, I\nbelieve, suggested to the Academy that I should be appointed Assistant\nKeeper of the Oriental Museum at St. Petersburg, but his colleagues\ndid not apparently consider so young a man, and a mere German scholar,\na fit candidate for so responsible a post. Boehtlingk wished me to\nsend him all my materials, and he would get the MSS. of the Rig-veda\nand of S\u00e2yana\u2019s commentary from the Library of the East India Company,\nand Paris. No definite proposition, however, came from the Imperial\nAcademy, but an announcement of Boehtlingk\u2019s appeared in the papers\nin January, 1846, to the effect that he was preparing, in\ncollaboration with Monsieur Max M\u00fcller of Paris, a complete edition of\nthe Rig-veda.\n\nAll this, I confess, began to frighten me. For me, a poor scholar, to\ngo to St. Petersburg without any official invitation, without any\nappointment, seemed reckless, and though I have no doubt that\nBoehtlingk would have done his best for me, yet even he could only\nsuggest private lessons, and that was no cheerful outlook. The Academy\nwould do nothing for me unless I joined Boehtlingk, but at last\noffered to buy my materials, on which I had spent so much labour and\nthe small fund at my disposal. If the Academy could have got the\nnecessary MSS. from Paris and London, I should have been perfectly\nhelpless. Boehtlingk could have done the whole work himself, in some\nrespects better than I, because he was my senior, and besides, he knew\nP\u00e2nini, the old Indian grammarian who is constantly referred to in\nS\u00e2yana\u2019s Commentary, better than I did. With all these threatening\nclouds around me, my decision was by no means easy.\n\nIt was Burnouf\u2019s advice that determined me to remain quietly in Paris.\nHe warned me repeatedly against trusting to Boehtlingk, and promised,\nif I would only stay in Paris, to give me his support with Guizot, who\nwas then Minister for Foreign Affairs, and very much interested in\nOriental studies.\n\nBoehtlingk seems never to have forgiven me, and he and several of his\nfriends were highly displeased at my ultimate success in securing a\npublisher for the Rig-veda in England. Their language was most\nunbecoming, and they tried, and actually urged other Sanskrit\nscholars, to criticize my edition, though I must say to their credit\nthat they afterwards confessed that it was all that could be desired.\n\nMany years later, Boehtlingk published a violent attack on me,\nentitled _F. Max M\u00fcller als Mythendichter_, but I thought it\nunnecessary to take up the dispute, and preferred to leave my friends\nto judge for themselves between me and this propounder of accusations,\nthe legitimacy of which he was utterly unable to establish. However,\nas I discovered later that he accused me of having acted\ndiscourteously towards the Imperial Academy of St. Petersburg, with\nwhom I had never had any direct dealings, and stated that he had\nprevented that illustrious body from ever making me a corresponding\nmember, I thought it right to offer an explanation to the Secretary,\nand I have in my possession his reply, in which he wrote that there\nwas no foundation whatever for Professor Boehtlingk\u2019s statements.\n\nHowever, the outcome of it was that I did not go to St. Petersburg,\nbut went on with my work at the Library in Paris, till one day I found\nit necessary to run over to London, to copy and collate certain MSS.,\nand there I found the long-sought-for benefactors, who were to enable\nme to carry out the work of my life.\n\nOf course, during my stay in Paris there was no idea of my going into\nsociety, or of buying tickets for theatres or concerts. I went out to\ndinner at some small restaurant, but otherwise I remained at home, and\nviewed Paris life from my high windows, looking out on the Chambre des\nD\u00e9put\u00e9s on one side, the Madeleine close to me on the left, and the\nPorte St. Martin far away at the end of the Boulevards. Baron\nd\u2019Eckstein, as I have said, was willing to introduce me into society,\nbut I refused his kind offers. In fact, I was more or less of a bear,\nand I now regret having missed meeting many interesting characters,\nand having kept aloof from others, because my interests were absorbed\nelsewhere. Burnouf asked me sometimes to his house; so did a Monsieur\nTroyer, who had been in India and published some Sanskrit texts, and\nwhose daughter, the Duchesse de Wagram, made much of me, as she was\nvery fond of music. There were some German families also, some rich,\nsome poor, who showed me great kindness.\n\nI was too much oppressed with cares and anxieties about my life and my\nliterary plans to think much of society and enjoyment. Even of the\nstudents and student life I saw but little, though I was actually\nattending lectures with them. I must say, however, that the little I\ndid see of student life in Paris gave me a very different idea from\nwhat is generally thought of their vagaries and extravagances. A\nFrenchman, if he once begins to work, can work and does work very\nhard. I remember seeing several instances of this, but it is possible\nthat I may have seen the pick of the Quartier Latin only. One who was\nthen a young man, preparing for the Church, but already with an eye to\nhigher flights, was Renan. At first he still looked upon all young\nGermans with suspicion, but this feeling soon disappeared. I remember\nhim chiefly at the Biblioth\u00e8que Royale, where he had a very small\nplace in the Oriental Department. Hase, the Greek scholar, Reinaud,\nthe Arabist, and Stanislas Julien, the Sinologue, were librarians\nthen. Hase, a German by birth, was most obliging, but he was greatly\nafraid of speaking German, and insisted on our always speaking French\nto him. Often did he call Renan to fetch MSS. for me: \u201cRenan,\u201d he\nwould call out very loudly, \u201callez chercher, pour Monsieur Max M\u00fcller,\nle manuscrit sanscrit, num\u00e9ro ...,\u201d and then followed a pause, till he\nhad translated \u201c1637\u201d into French. In later years Renan and I became\ngreat friends, but we German scholars were often puzzled at his great\npopularity, which certainly was owing to his style more even than to\nhis scholarship. Some time later, when I was already established in\nEngland, we had a little controversy, and I printed a rather fierce\nattack on his _Grammaire S\u00e9mitique_. But we were intimate enough for\nme to show him my pamphlet, and when he wrote to me, \u201cPardonnez-moi,\nje n\u2019ai pas compris ce que vous vouliez dire,\u201d I suppressed the\npamphlet, though it was printed, and we remained friends for life. He\ntranslated my first article on Comparative Mythology, and I had a\nnumber of most interesting letters from him. It was his wife who did\nthe translation, while he revised it. That French pamphlet is very\nscarce now; my own pamphlet was entirely suppressed; even I myself can\nfind no copy of it among the rubbish of my early writings, and what I\nregret most, I threw away his letters, not thinking how interesting\nthey would become in time.\n\nWith all my work, however, I found time to attend some lectures at the\nColl\u00e8ge de France, and to make the acquaintance of some distinguished\nFrench _savants_ of the _Institut_. I went there with Burnouf, or\nStanislas Julien, or Reinaud, little dreaming that I should some day\nbelong to the same august body. Many of my young French friends, who\nafterwards became _Membres de l\u2019Institut_, rose to that dignity much\nlater. I was made not only a corresponding, but a real member of the\nAcad\u00e9mie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres in 1869, before my\nfriends, such as G. Perrot 1874, Michel Br\u00e9al 1875, Gaston Paris 1876,\nand Jules Oppert 1881, occupied their well-merited academical\n_fauteuils_. The struggle when I was elected in 1869 was a serious\none; it was between Mommsen and myself, between classical and Oriental\nscholarship, and for once Oriental scholarship carried the day.\nMommsen, however, was elected in 1895, and there can be little doubt\nthat his strong and outspoken political antipathies had something to\ndo with the late date of his election.\n\nI am sorry to say that one result of my seeing so little of French\nlife was that my French did not make such progress as I expected.\nThough I was able to express myself _tant bien que mal_, I have always\nfelt hampered in a long conversation. Of course, the French themselves\nhave always been polite enough to say that they could not have\ndetected that I was a German, but I knew better than that, and never\nhave I, even in later years, gained a perfect conversational command\nof that difficult language.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nARRIVAL IN ENGLAND\n\n\nWhile working in Paris I constantly felt the want of some essential\nMSS. which were at the Library of the East India Company in London,\nand my desire to visit England consequently grew stronger and\nstronger; but I had not the wherewithal to pay for the journey, much\nless for a stay of even a fortnight in London. At last (June, 1846) I\nthought that I had scraped together enough to warrant my starting. At\nthat time I had never seen the sea, and I was very desirous of doing\nso. I well remember my unbounded rapture at my first sight of the\nsilver stream, and like Xenophon\u2019s Greeks I could have shouted,\n\u03b8\u1f01\u03bb\u03b1\u03c4\u03c4\u03b1, \u03b8\u1f01\u03bb\u03b1\u03c4\u03c4\u03b1. Once on board my rapture soon collapsed and was\nsucceeded by that well-known feeling of misery which I have so\nfrequently experienced since then, and I huddled myself up in a corner\nof the deck.\n\nThere a young fellow-traveller saw the poor bundle of misery, and\ntried to comfort me, and brought me what he thought was good for me,\nnot, however, without a certain merry twinkle in his eye and a few\nkindly jokes at my expense. We landed at the docks in London, a real\ndrizzly day, rain and mist, and such a crowd rushing on shore that I\nmissed my cheerful friend and felt quite lost. In addition to all this\na porter had run away with my portmanteau, which contained my books\nand MSS., in fact all my worldly goods. At that moment my young friend\nreappeared, and seeing the plight I was in, came to my assistance.\n\u201cYou stay here,\u201d he said, \u201cand I will arrange everything for you;\u201d and\nso he did. He fetched a four-wheeler, put my luggage on the top,\nbundled me inside, and drove with me through a maze of London streets\nto his rooms in the Temple. Then, still knowing nothing about me, he\nasked me to spend the night in his rooms, gave me a bed and everything\nelse I wanted for the night. The next morning he took me out to look\nfor lodgings, which we found in Essex Street, a small street leading\nout of the Strand.\n\nThe room which I took was almost entirely filled by an immense\nfour-post bed. I had never seen such a structure before, and during\nthe first night that I slept in it, I was in constant fear that the\ntop of the bed would fall and smother me as in the German _M\u00e4rchen_.\nWhen the landlady came in to see me in the morning, after asking how I\nhad slept, the first thing she said was, \u201cBut, sir, don\u2019t you want\nanother \u2018pillar\u2019?\u201d I looked bewildered, and said: \u201cWhy, what shall I\ndo with another pillar? and where will you put it?\u201d She then touched\nthe pillows under my head and said, \u201cWell, sir, you shall have\nanother \u2018pillar\u2019 to-morrow.\u201d \u201cHow shall I ever learn English,\u201d I said\nto myself, \u201cif a \u2018pillar\u2019 means really a soft pillow?\u201d\n\nBut to return to my unknown friend, he came every day to show me\nthings which I ought to see in London, and brought me tickets for\ntheatres and concerts, which he said were sent to him. His name was\nWilliam Howard Russell, endeared to so many, high and low, under the\nname of \u201cBilly\u201d Russell, the first and most brilliant\nwar-correspondent of _The Times_ during the Crimean War. He remained\nmy warm and true friend through life, and even now when we are both\ncripples, we delight in meeting and talking over very distant days.\n\nI had come over to London expecting to stay about a fortnight, but I\nhad been there working at the Library in Leadenhall Street for nearly\na month, and my work was far from done, when I thought that I ought to\ncall and pay my respects to the Prussian Minister, Baron Bunsen. I\nlittle thought at the time when I was ushered into his presence that\nthis acquaintance was to become the turning-point of my life. If I\nowed much to Burnouf, how can I tell what I owed to Bunsen? I was\namazed at the kindness with which from the very first he received me.\nI had no claim whatever on him, and I had as yet done very little as a\nscholar. It is true that he had known my father in Italy, and that\nHumboldt, with his usual kindness, had written him a strong letter of\nrecommendation on my behalf, but that was hardly sufficient reason to\naccount for the real friendship with which he at once honoured me.\n\nBaroness Bunsen, in the life of her husband, writes: \u201cThe kindred\nmind, their sympathy of heart, the unity in highest aspirations, a\ncongeniality in principles, a fellowship in the pursuit of favourite\nobjects, which attracted and bound Bunsen to his young friend (i. e.\nmyself), rendered this connexion one of the happiest of his life.\u201d I\nam proud to think it was so.\n\nAt first the chief bond between us was that I was engaged on a work\nwhich as a young man he had proposed to himself as the work of his\nlife, namely, the _editio princeps_ of the Rig-veda. Often has he told\nme how, at the time when he was prosecuting his studies at G\u00f6ttingen,\nthe very existence of such a book was unknown as yet in Germany. The\nname of Veda had no doubt been known, and there was a halo of mystery\nabout it, as the oldest book of the world. But what it was and where\nit was to be found no one could tell. Mr. Astor, a pupil of Bunsen\u2019s\nat G\u00f6ttingen, had arranged to take Bunsen to India to carry on his\nresearches there. But Bunsen waited and waited in Italy, till at last,\nafter maintaining himself by giving private lessons, he went to Rome,\nwas taken up by Brandes and Niebuhr, the Prussian Ambassador there,\nbecame the friend of the future Frederick William IV, and thus\ngradually drifted into diplomacy, giving up all hopes of discovering\nor rescuing the Rig-veda.\n\nPeople have hardly any idea now, how, in spite of the East India\nCompany conquering and governing India, India itself remained a _terra\nincognita_, unapproachable by the students of England and of Europe.\nThat there were literary treasures to be discovered in India, that the\nBrahmans were the depositaries of ancient wisdom, was known through\nthe labours of some of the most eminent servants of the East India\nCompany. It had been known even before, through the interesting\ncommunications of Roman Catholic missionaries in India, that the\nmanuscripts themselves, at least those of the Veda, were not\nforthcoming. Even as late as the times of Sir W. Jones, Colebrooke,\nand Professor Wilson, the Brahmans were most unwilling to part with\nMSS. of the Veda, except the Upanishads. Professor Wilson told me that\nonce, when examining the library of a native R\u00e2jah, he came across\nsome MSS. of the Rig-veda, and began turning them over; but \u201cI\nobserved,\u201d he said, \u201cthe ominous and threatening looks of some of the\nBrahmans present, and thought it wiser to beat a retreat.\u201d Dr. Mill\nhad known of a gentleman who had a very sacred hymn of the Veda, the\nGayatri, printed at Calcutta. The Brahmans were furious at this\nprofanation, and when the gentleman died soon after, they looked upon\nhis premature death as the vengeance of the offended gods.\nColebrooke, however, was allowed to possess himself of several most\nvaluable Vedic MSS., and he found Brahmans quite ready to read with\nhim, not only the classical texts, but also portions of the Veda.\n\u201cThey do not even,\u201d he writes, \u201cconceal from us the most sacred texts\nof the Veda.\u201d His own essays on the Veda appeared in the _Asiatic\nResearches_ as early as 1801. But people went on dreaming about the\nVeda, instead of reading Colebrooke\u2019s essays.\n\nIt was curious, however, that at the time when I prepared my edition\nof the Rig-veda, Vedic scholarship was at a very low ebb in Bengal\nitself, and there were few Brahmans there who knew the whole of the\nRig-veda by heart, as they still did in the South of India.\nManuscripts were never considered in India as of very high authority;\nthey were always over-ruled by the oral traditions of certain schools.\nHowever, such manuscripts, good and bad, but mostly bad, existed, and\nafter a time some of them reached England, France, and even Germany.\nPortions of those in Berlin and Paris I had copied and collated, so\nthat I could show Bunsen the very book which he had been in search of\nin his youth. This opened his heart to me as well as the doors of his\nhouse. \u201cI am glad,\u201d he said, \u201cto have lived to see the Veda. Whatever\nyou want, let me know; I look upon you as myself grown young again.\u201d\nAnd he did help me, as only a father can help his son.\n\nPerhaps he expected too much from the Veda, as many other people did\nat that time, and before the _verba ipsissima_ were printed. As the\noldest book that ever was composed, the Veda was supposed to give us a\npicture of what man was in his most primitive state, with his most\nprimitive ideas, and his most primitive language. Everybody interested\nin the origin and the first development of language, thought,\nreligion, and social institutions, looked forward to the Veda as a new\nrevelation. All such dreams, natural enough before the Veda was known,\nwere dispersed by my laying sacrilegious hands on the Veda itself, and\nactually publishing it, making it public property, to the dismay of\nthe Brahmans in India, and to the delight of all Sanskrit scholars in\nEurope. The learned essays of Colebrooke in India, and the extracts\npublished by Rosen, the Oriental librarian of the British Museum,\nmight indeed have taught people that the Veda was not a book without\nany antecedents, that it would not tell us the secrets of Adam and\nEve, or of Deukalion and Pyrrha. I myself had both said and written\nthat the Veda, like an old oak tree, shows hundreds and thousands of\ncircles within circles; and yet I was afterwards held responsible for\nhaving excited the wildest hopes among archaeologists, when I had done\nmy best, if not to destroy them, at all events to reduce them to their\nproper level. Schelling seemed quite disappointed when I showed him\nsome of the translations of the hymns of the Rig-veda; and Bunsen,\nwho was still under Schelling\u2019s influence, had evidently expected a\ngreat many more of such philosophical hymns as the famous one\nbeginning:\n\n\u201cThere was not nought nor was there aught at that time.\u201d\n\nTo the scholar, no doubt, the Veda remained and always will remain the\noldest of real books, that has been preserved to us in an almost\nmiraculous way. By book, however, as I often explained, I mean a book\ndivided into chapters and verses, having a beginning and an end, and\nhanded down to us in an alphabetic form of writing. China may have\npossessed older books in a half phonetic, half symbolic writing; Egypt\ncertainly possessed older hieroglyphic inscriptions and papyri;\nBabylon had its cuneiform monuments; and certain portions of the Old\nTestament may have existed in a written form at the time of Josiah,\nwhen Hilkiah, the high priest, found the law book in the sanctuary (2\nKings xxii. 8). But the Veda, with its ten books or _Mandalas_, its\n1017 hymns or _Suktas_, with every consonant and vowel and accent\nplainly written, was a different thing. It may safely be called a\nbook. No doubt it existed for a long time, as it does even at present,\nin oral tradition, but as it was in tradition, so it was when reduced\nto writing, and in either form I doubt whether any other real book can\nrival it in antiquity. More important, however, than the purely\nchronological antiquity of the book, is the antiquity or primitiveness\nof the thoughts which it contains. If the people of the Veda did not\nturn out to be quite such savages as was hoped and expected, they\nnevertheless disclosed to us a layer of thought which can be explored\nnowhere else. The Vedic poets were not ashamed of exposing their fear\nthat the sun might tumble down from the sky, and there are no other\npoets, as far as I know, who still trembled at the same not quite\nunnatural thought. Nor do I find even savages who still wonder and\nexpress their surprise that black cows should produce white milk. Is\nnot that childish enough for any ancient or modern savage? Mere\nchronology is here of as little avail as with modern savages, whose\ncustoms and beliefs, though known as but of yesterday, are represented\nto us as older than the Veda, older than Babylonian cylinders, older\nthan anything written. When certain modern savages recognize the\nrelationship of paternity, maternity, and consanguinity, this is\ncalled very ancient. If they admit traditional restrictions as to\nmarriage, food, the treatment of the dead, nay, even a life to come,\nthis too, no doubt, may be very old; but it may be of yesterday also.\nThere are even quite new gods, whose genesis has been watched by\nliving missionaries. The great difficulty in all such researches is to\ndistinguish between what is common to human nature, and what is really\ninherited or traditional. All such questions have only as yet been\ntouched upon, and they must wait for their answer till real scholars\nwill take up the study of the language of living savages, in the same\nscholarlike spirit in which they have taken up the study of Vedic and\nBabylonian savages. But we must have patience and learn to wait. It\nhas been a favourite idea among anthropologists that the savage races\ninhabiting parts of India give us a correct idea of what the Aryans of\nIndia were before they were civilized. It may safely be said of this\nas of other mere ideas, that it may be true, but that there is no\nevidence to show that it is true. At all events it takes much for\ngranted, and neglects, as it would seem, the very lessons which the\ntheory of evolution has taught us. It is the nature of evolution to be\ncontinuous, and not to proceed _per saltum_. Therein lies the beauty\nof genealogical evolution that we can recognize the fibres which\nconnect the upper strata with the lower, till we strike the lowest, or\nat least that which contains what seem to be the seeds and germs of\nearly thoughts, words, and acts. We can trace the most modern forms of\nlanguage back to Sanskrit, or rather to that postulated linguistic\nstratum of which Sanskrit formed the most prominent representative,\njust as we can trace the French _Dieu_ back to Latin _Deus_ and\nSanskrit _Devas_, the brilliant beings behind the phenomena of nature;\nand again behind them, _Dyaus_, the brilliant sky, the Greek _Zeus_,\nthe Roman _Iovis_ and _Iuppiter_, the most natural of all the Aryan\ngods of nature. This is real evolution, a real causal nexus between\nthe present and the past. It used to be called history or pragmatic\nhistory, whether we take history in the sense of the description of\nevolution, or in that of evolution itself. History has generally to\nbegin with the present, to go back to the past, and to point out the\npalpable steps by which the past became again and again the present.\nEvolution, on the contrary, prefers to begin with the distant past, to\npostulate formations, even if they have left no traces, and to speak\nof those almost imperceptible changes by which the postulated past\nbecame the perceptible present, as not only necessary, but as real.\nPerhaps the difference is of no importance, but the historical method\nseems certainly the more accurate, and the more satisfactory from a\npurely scientific point of view.\n\nIn all such evolutionary researches language has always been the most\nuseful instrument, and the study of the science of language may truly\nbe said to have been the first science which was treated according to\nevolutionary or historical principles. Here, too, no doubt,\nintermediate links which must have existed, are sometimes lost beyond\nrecovery, and when we arrive at the very roots of language, we feel\nthat there may have been whole aeons before that radical period. Here\nscience must recognize her inevitable horizons, but here again no\nsurviving literary monument could carry us so far as the Veda. Hence\nits supreme importance for Aryan philology\u2014for the philology of the\nmost important languages of historical mankind. Other languages,\nwhether Babylonian or Accadian, whether Hottentot or Maori, may be,\nfor all we know, much more ancient or much more primitive; but, as\nscientific explorers, we can only speak of what we know, and we must\nrenounce all conjectures that go beyond facts.\n\nIn all these researches no one took a livelier interest and encouraged\nme more than Bunsen. When some of my translations of the Vedic hymns\nseemed fairly satisfactory, I used to take them to him, and he was\nalways delighted at seeing a little more of that ancient Aryan torso,\nthough at the time he was more specially interested in Egyptian\nchronology and archaeology. Often when I was alone with him did we\ndiscuss the chronological and psychological dates of Egyptian and\nAryan antiquity. Kind-hearted as he was, Bunsen could get very\nexcited, nay, quite violent in arguing, and though these fits soon\npassed off, yet it made discussions between His Excellency the\nPrussian Minister and a young German scholar somewhat difficult. At\nthat time much less was known of the earliest Egyptian chronology than\nis now. But I was never much impressed by mere dates. If a king was\nsupposed to have lived 5,000 years before our era, \u201cWhat is that to\nus?\u201d I used to say, \u201cHe sits on his throne _in vacuo_, and there is\nnothing to fix him by, nothing contemporary which alone gives interest\nto history. In India we have no dates; but whatever dates and names of\nkings and accounts of battles the Egyptian inscriptions may give us,\nas a book there is nothing so old in Egypt as the Veda in India.\nBesides, we have in the Veda thoughts; and in the chronology of\nthought the Veda seems to me older than even the Book of the Dead.\u201d\n\nAs to the actual date of the Veda, I readily granted that\nchronologically it was not so old as the pyramids, but supposing it\nhad been, would that in any way have increased its value for our\nstudies? If we were to place it at 5000 B. C., I doubt whether anybody\ncould refute such a date, while if we go back beyond the Veda, and\ncome to measure the time required for the formation of Sanskrit and of\nthe Proto-Aryan language I doubt very much whether even 5,000 years\nwould suffice for that. There is an unfathomable depth in language,\nlayer following after layer, long before we arrive at roots, and what\na time and what an effort must have been required for their\nelaboration, and for the elaboration of the ideas expressed in them.\n\nOur battles waxed sometimes very fierce, but we generally ended by\narriving at an understanding. As a young man, Bunsen had clearly\nperceived the importance of the Veda for an historical study of\nmankind and the growth of the human mind, but he was not discouraged\nwhen he saw that it gave us less than had been expected. \u201cIt is a\nfortress,\u201d he used to say, \u201cthat must be besieged and taken, it cannot\nbe left in our rear.\u201d But he little knew how much time it would take\nto approach it, to surround it, and at last to take it. It has not\nbeen surrendered even now, and will not be in my time. It is true\nthere are several translations of the whole of the Rig-veda, and their\nauthors deserve the highest credit for what they have done. People\nhave wondered why I have not given one of them in my Sacred Books of\nthe East. I thought it was more honest to give, in co-operation with\nOldenburg, specimens only in vols. xxxii and xlvi of that series, and\nlet it be seen in the notes how much uncertainty there still is, and\nhow much more of hard work is required, before we can call ourselves\nmasters of the old Vedic fortress.\n\nBunsen\u2019s interest in my work, however, took a more practical turn than\nmere encouragement. It was no good encouraging me to copy and collate\nSanskrit MSS. if they were not to be published. He saw that the East\nIndia Company were the proper body to undertake that work. Bunsen\u2019s\nname was a power in England, and his patronage was the very best\nintroduction that I could have had. It was no easy task to persuade\nthe Board of Directors\u2014all strictly practical and commercial men\u2014to\nauthorize so considerable an expenditure, merely to edit and print an\nold book that none of them could understand, and many of them had\nperhaps never even heard of. Bunsen pointed out what a disgrace it\nwould be to them, if some other country than England published this\nedition of the Sacred Books of the Brahmans.\n\nProfessor Wilson, Librarian of the Company, also gave my project his\nsupport, and at last, not quite a year after my arrival in England,\nafter a long struggle and many fears of failure, it was settled that\nthe East India Company were to bear the cost of printing the Veda, and\nwere meanwhile to enable me to stay in London, and prepare my work for\npress.\n\nI had already been working five years copying and collating, and my\nfirst volume of the Rig-veda was progressing, but it was only when all\nwas settled that I realized how much there was still to do, and that I\nshould have very hard work indeed before the printing could begin. I\nmust enter into some details to show the real difficulties I had to\nface.\n\nI felt convinced that the first thing to do was to publish a correct\ntext of the Rig-veda. That was not so difficult, though it brought me\nthe greatest kudos. The MSS. were very correct, and the text could\neasily be restored by comparing the Pada and Sanhit\u00e2 texts, i. e. the\ntext in which every word was separated, and the text in which the\nwords were united according to the rules of Sandhi. Anybody might have\ndone that, yet this, as I said, was the part of my work for which I\nhave received the greatest praise.\n\nWhen my edition of the Rig-veda containing text and commentary was\nnearly finished, another scholar, who had assisted me in my work, and\nwho had always had the use of my MSS., my Indices, in fact of the\nwhole of my _apparatus criticus_, published a transcript of the text\nin Latin letters, and thus anticipated part of the last volume of my\nedition. His friends, who were perhaps not mine, seemed delighted to\ncall him the first editor of the Rig-veda, though they ceased to do so\nwhen they discovered misprints or mistakes of my own edition repeated\nin his. He himself was far above such tactics. He knew, and they knew\nperfectly well that, whatever the _vulgus profanum_ may think, my real\nwork was the critical edition of S\u00e2yana\u2019s commentary on the Rig-veda.\nI had determined that this also should be edited according to the\nstrictest rules of criticism. I knew what an amount of labour that\nwould involve, but I refused to yield to the pressure of my colleagues\nto proceed more quickly but less critically.\n\nS\u00e2yana quotes a number of Sanskrit works which, at the time when I\nbegan my edition, had not yet been edited. Such were the Nirukta, the\nglossary of the Rig-veda; the Aitareya-br\u00e2hmana, a very old\nexplanation of the Vedic sacrifice; the \u00c2sval\u00e2yana S\u00fbtras, on the\nceremonial; and sundry works of the same character. S\u00e2yana generally\nalludes very briefly only to these works and presupposes that they are\nknown to us, so that a short reference would suffice for his purposes.\nTo find such references and to understand them required, however, not\nonly that I should copy these works, which I did, but that I should\nmake indices and thus be able to find the place of the passages to\nwhich he alluded. This I did also, but over and over again was I\nstopped by some short enigmatical reference to P\u00e2nini\u2019s grammar or\nYaska\u2019s glossary, which I could not identify. All these references are\nnow added to my edition, and those who will look them up in the\noriginals, will see what kind of work it was which I had to do before\na single line of my edition could be printed. How often was I in\nperfect despair, because there was some allusion in S\u00e2yana which I\ncould not make out, and which no other Sanskrit scholar, not even\nBurnouf or Wilson, could help me to clear up. It often took me whole\ndays, nay, weeks, before I saw light. A good deal of the commentary\nwas easy enough. It was like marching on the high road, when suddenly\nthere rises a fortress that has to be taken before any further advance\nis to be thought of. In the purely mechanical part other men could and\ndid help me. But whenever any real difficulty arose, I had to face it\nby myself, though after a time I gladly acknowledged that here, too,\ntheir advice was often valuable to me. In fact I found, and all my\nassistants seemed to have found out the same, that if they were\nuseful to me, the work they did for me was useful to them, and I am\nproud to say that nearly all of them have afterwards risen to great\nprominence in Sanskrit scholarship. From time to time I also worked at\ninterpreting and translating some of the Vedic hymns, though I had\nalways hoped that this part of the work would be taken up by other\nscholars.\n\nBunsen was also my social sponsor in London, and my first peeps into\nEnglish society were at the Prussian Legation. He often invited me to\nhis breakfast and dinner parties, and when I saw for the first time\nthe magnificent rooms crowded with ministers, and dukes, and bishops,\nand with ladies in their grandest dresses, I was as in a dream, and\nfelt as if I had been lifted into another world. Men were pointed out\nto me such as Sir Robert Peel, the Duke of Wellington, Van der Weyer,\nthe Belgian Minister, Thirlwall, Bishop of St. David\u2019s and author of\nthe _History of Greece_, Archdeacon Hare, Frederick Maurice, and many\nmore whom I did not know then, though I came to know several of them\nafterwards. Anybody who had anything of his own to produce was welcome\nin Bunsen\u2019s house, and among the men whom I remember meeting at his\nbreakfast parties, were Rawlinson, Layard, Hodgson, Birch, and many\nmore. Those breakfast parties were then quite a new institution to me,\nand it is curious how entirely they have gone out of fashion, though\nSir Harry Inglis, Member for Oxford, Gladstone, Member for Oxford,\nMonckton Milnes (afterwards Lord Houghton), kept them up to the last,\nwhile in Oxford they survived perhaps longer than anywhere else. They\nhad one great advantage, people came to them quite fresh in the\nmorning; but they broke too much into the day, particularly when, as\nat Oxford, they ended with beer, champagne, and cigars, as was\nsometimes the case in undergraduates\u2019 rooms.\n\nHow I was able to swim in that new stream, I can hardly understand\neven now. I had been quite unaccustomed to this kind of society, and\nwas ignorant of its simplest rules. Bunsen, however, was never put out\nby my gaucheries, but gave me friendly hints in feeling my way through\nwhat seemed to me a perfect labyrinth. He told me that I had offended\npeople by not returning their calls, or not leaving a card after\nhaving dined with them, paying the so-called digestion-visit to them.\nHow should I know? Nobody had ever told me, and I thought it obtrusive\nto call. Nor did I know that in England to touch fish with a knife, or\nto help yourself to potatoes with a fork, was as fatal as to drop or\nput in an _h_. Nor did I ever understand why to cut crisp pastry on\nyour plate with a knife was worse manners than to divide it with a\nfork, often scattering it over your plate and possibly over the\ntable-cloth. I must confess also that fish-knives always seemed to me\nmore civilized than forks in dividing fish, but fish-knives did not\nexist when I first came to England. The really interesting side of all\nthis is to watch how customs change\u2014come in and go out\u2014and by what a\nslow and imperceptible process they are discarded. Let us hope it is\nby the survival of the fittest. When I first went to Oxford everybody\ntook wine with his neighbours, now it is only at such conservative\ncolleges as my own\u2014All Souls\u2014that the old custom still survives. But\nthen we have not even given up wax candles yet, and we look upon gas\nas a most objectionable innovation.\n\nAnother great difficulty I had was in writing letters and addressing\nmy friends properly as Sir, or Mr. Smith, or Smith. I was told that\nthe rule was very simple and that you addressed everybody exactly as\nthey addressed you. What was the consequence? When I received an\ninvitation to dine with the Bishop of Oxford who addressed me as \u201cMy\ndear Sir,\u201d I wrote back \u201cMy dear Sir,\u201d and said that I should be very\nhappy. How Samuel Wilberforce must have chuckled when he read my\nepistle. But how is any stranger to know all the intricacies of social\nliterature, particularly if he is wrongly informed by the highest\nauthorities. I must confess that even later in life I have often been\npuzzled as to the right way of addressing my friends. There is no\ndifficulty about intimate friends, but as one grows older one knows\nso many people more or less intimately, and according to their\ndifferent characters and stations in life, one often does not know\nwhether one offends by too great or too little familiarity. I was once\nwriting to a very eminent man in London who had been exceedingly\nfriendly to me at Oxford, and I addressed him as \u201cMy dear Professor\nH.\u201d At the end of his answer he wrote, \u201cDon\u2019t call me Professor.\u201d All\ndepends on the tone in which such words are said. I imagined that\nliving in fashionable society in London, he did not like the somewhat\nscholastic title of Professor which, in London particularly, has\nalways a by-taste of diluted omniscience and conceit. I accordingly\naddressed him in my next letter as \u201cMy dear Sir,\u201d and this, I am sorry\nto say, produced quite a coldness and stiffness, as my friend\nevidently imagined that I declined to be on more intimate terms with\nhim, the fact being that through life I have always been one of his\nmost devoted admirers. I did my best to conform to all the British\ninstitutions, as well as I could, though in the beginning I must no\ndoubt have made fearful blunders, and possibly given offence to the\ntruly insular Briton. Bunsen seemed to delight in asking me whenever\nhe had Princes or other grandees to lunch or dine with him.\n\nOne day he took me with him to stay at Hurstmonceux with Archdeacon\nHare, and a delightful time it was. There were books in every room,\non the staircase, and in every corner of the house, and the Archdeacon\nknew every one of them, and as soon as a book was mentioned, he went\nand fetched it. He generally knew the very place at which the passage\nthat was being discussed, occurred, and excelled even the famous dog,\nwhich at one of these literary breakfast parties\u2014I believe in\nHallam\u2019s house\u2014was ordered on the spur of the moment to fetch the\nfifth volume of Gibbon\u2019s _History_, and at once climbed up the ladder\nand brought down from the shelf the very volume in which the disputed\npassage occurred. He had been taught this one trick of fetching a\ncertain volume from the shelves of the library, and the conversation\nwas turned and turned till it was brought round to a passage in that\nvery volume. The guests were, no doubt, amazed, but as it was before\nthe days of Darwin and Lubbock, it led to no more than a good laugh. I\nwas surprised and delighted at the honesty with which the Archdeacon\nadmitted the weak points of the Anglican system, and the dangers which\nthreatened not only the Church, but the religion of England. The real\ndanger, he evidently thought, came from the clergy, and their\nhankering after Rome. \u201cThey have forgotten their history,\u201d he said,\n\u201cand the sufferings which the sway of a Roman priesthood has inflicted\nfor centuries on their country.\u201d I think it was he who told me the\nstory of a young Romanizing curate, who declared that he could never\nsee what was the use of the laity.\n\nOne day when I called on Bunsen with my books, and I frequently called\nwhen I had something new to show him, he said: \u201cYou must come with me\nto Oxford to the meeting of the British Association.\u201d This was in\n1847. Of course I did not know what sort of thing this British\nAssociation was, but Bunsen said he would explain it all to me, only I\nmust at once sit down and write a paper. He, Bunsen, was to read a\npaper on the \u201cResults of the recent Egyptian Researches in reference\nto Asiatic and African Ethnology and the Classification of Languages,\u201d\nand he wanted Dr. Karl Meyer and myself to support him, the former\nwith a paper on Celtic Philology, and myself with a paper on the Aryan\nand Aboriginal Languages of India. I assured him that this was quite\nbeyond me. I had hardly been a year in England, and even if I could\nwrite, I knew but too well that I could not read a paper before a\nlarge audience. However, Bunsen would take no refusal. \u201cWe must show\nthem what we have done in Germany for the history and philosophy of\nlanguage,\u201d he said, \u201cand I reckon on your help.\u201d There was no escape,\nand to Oxford I had to go. I was fearfully nervous, for, as Prince\nAlbert was to be present, ever so many distinguished people had\nflocked to the meeting, and likewise some not very friendly\nethnologists, such as Dr. Latham, and Mr. Crawford, known by the name\nof the Objector General. Our section was presided over by the famous\nDr. Prichard, the author of that classical work, _Researches into the\nPhysical History of Mankind_, in five volumes, and it was he who\nprotected me most chivalrously against the somewhat frivolous\nobjections of certain members, who were not over friendly towards\nPrince Albert, Chevalier Bunsen, and all that was called German in\nscholarship. All, however, went off well. Bunsen\u2019s speech was most\nsuccessful, and it is a pity that it should be buried in the\n_Transactions of the British Association for 1847_. At that time it\nwas considered a great honour that his speech should appear there _in\nextenso_. When Bunsen declared that he would not give it, unless Dr.\nMeyer\u2019s paper and my own were published in the _Transactions_ at the\nsame time, there was renewed opposition. I was so little proud of my\nown essay, that I should much rather have kept it back for further\nimprovement, but printed it was in the _Transactions_, and much\ncanvassed at the time in different journals.\n\nI have always been doubtful about the advantages of these public\nmeetings, so far as any scientific results are concerned. Everybody\nwho pays a guinea may become a member and make himself heard, whether\nhe knows anything on the subject or not. The most ignorant men often\noccupy the largest amount of time. Some people look upon these\ncongresses simply as a means of advertising themselves, and I have\nactually seen quoted among a man\u2019s titles to fame the fact that he had\nbeen a member of certain congresses. Another drawback is that no one,\nnot even the best of scholars, is quite himself before a mixed\naudience. Whereas in a private conversation a man is glad to receive\nany new information, no one likes to be told in public that he ought\nto have known this or that, or that every schoolboy knows it. Then\nfollows generally a squabble, and the best pleader is sure to have the\nlaughter on his side, however ignorant he may be of the subject that\nis being discussed. But Dr. Prichard was an excellent president and\nmoderator, and though he had unruly spirits to deal with, he succeeded\nin keeping up a certain decorum among them. Dr. Prichard\u2019s authority\nstood very high, and justly so, and his _Researches into the Physical\nHistory of Mankind_ still remain unparalleled in ethnology. His\ncareful weighing of facts and difficulties went out of fashion when\nthe theory of evolution became popular, and every change from a flea\nto an elephant was explained by imperceptible degrees. He dealt\nchiefly with what was perceptible, with well-observed facts, and many\nof the facts which he marshalled so well, require even now, in these\npost-Darwinian days I should venture to say, renewed consideration.\nLike all great men, he was wonderfully humble, and allowed me to\ncontradict him, who ought to have been proud to listen and to learn\nfrom him.\n\nBut though I cannot say that the result of these meetings and\nwranglings was very great or valuable, I spent a few most delightful\ndays at Oxford, and I could not imagine a more perfect state of\nexistence than to be an undergraduate, a fellow, or a professor there.\nA kind of silent love sprang up in my heart, though I hardly confessed\nit to myself, much less to the object of my affections. I knew I had\nto go back to be a University tutor or even a master in a public\nschool in Germany, and that was a hard life compared with the freedom\nof Oxford. To be independent and free to work as I liked, that was\neverything to me, but how I ever succeeded in realizing my ideal, I\nhardly know. At that time I saw nothing but a life of drudgery and\nsevere struggle before me, but I did not allow myself to dwell on it;\nI simply worked on, without looking either right or left, behind or\nbefore.\n\nWhile at Oxford on this my first flying visit, I had a room in\nUniversity College, the very college in which my son was hereafter to\nbe an undergraduate. My host was Dr. Plumptre, the Master of the\nCollege, a tall, stiff, and to my mind, very imposing person. He was\nthen Vice-Chancellor, and I believe I never saw him except in his cap\nand gown and with two bedels walking before him, the one with a gold,\nthe other with a silver poker in his hands. We have no Esquire bedels\nany longer! All the professors, too, and even the undergraduates,\ndressed in their mediaeval academic costume, looked to me very grand,\nand so different from the German students at Leipzig or still more at\nJena, walking about the streets in pink cotton trousers and\ndressing-gowns. It seemed to me quite a different world, and I made\nnew discoveries every day. Being with Bunsen I was invited to all the\nofficial dinners during the meeting of the British Association, and\nhere, too, the Vice-Chancellor acted his part with becoming dignity.\nHe never unbent; he never indulged in a joke or joined in the laughter\nof his neighbours. When I remarked on his immovable features, I was\ntold that he slept in starched sheets\u2014and I believed it. At one of\nthese dinners, Prince Louis Lucien Bonaparte caused a titter during a\nspeech about the freedom which people enjoyed in England. \u201cIn France,\u201d\nhe said, \u201cwith all the declamations about _Libert\u00e9_, _\u00c9galit\u00e9_,\n_Fraternit\u00e9_, there is very little freedom, and, with all the trees of\n_libert\u00e9_ which are being planted along the boulevards, there is very\nlittle of real liberty to be found there!\u201d \u201cBut you in England,\u201d he\nfinished, \u201cyou have your old tree of liberty, which is always\nflowering and showering _peas_ on the whole world.\u201d He wanted to say\npeace. We tried to look solemn but failed, and a suppressed laugh went\nround till it reached the Vice-Chancellor. There it stopped. He was\nfar too well bred to allow a single muscle of his face to move. \u201cHe\nthrows a cold blanket on everything,\u201d my neighbour said; and my\nknowledge of English was still so imperfect that I accepted many of\nthese metaphorical remarks in their literal sense, and became more and\nmore puzzled about my host. It was evidently a pleasure to my friends\nto see how easily I was taken in. On the walls of the houses at Oxford\nI saw the letters F. P. about ten feet from the ground. Of course it\nwas meant for Fire Plug, but I was told that it marked the height of\nthe Vice-Chancellor, whose name was Frederick Plumptre.\n\nMy visit to Oxford was over all too soon, and I returned to London to\ntoil away at my Sanskrit MSS. in the little room that had been\nassigned to me in the Old East India House in Leadenhall Street. That\nbuilding, too, in which the reins of the mighty Empire of India were\nheld, mostly by the hands of merchants, has vanished, and the place of\nit knoweth it no more. However, I thought little of India, I only\nthought of the library at the East India House, a real Eldorado for an\neager Sanskrit student, who had never seen such treasures before. I\nsaw little else there, I only remember seeing Tippoo Sahib\u2019s tiger\nwhich held an English soldier in his claws, and was regularly wound up\nfor the benefit of visitors, and then uttered a loud squeak, enough to\ndisturb even the most absorbed of students. I felt quite dazed by all\nthe books and manuscripts placed at my disposal, and revelled in them\nevery day till it became dark, and I had to walk home through Ludgate\nHill, Cheapside, and the Strand, generally carrying ever so many books\nand papers under my arms. I knew nobody in the city, and no one knew\nme; and what did I care for the world, as long as I had my beloved\nmanuscripts?\n\nIn March, 1848, I had to go over to Paris to finish up some work\nthere, and just came in for the revolution. From my windows I had a\nfine view of all that was going on. I well remember the pandemonium in\nthe streets, the aspect of the savage mob, the wanton firing of shots\nat quiet spectators, the hoisting of Louis Philippe\u2019s nankeen trousers\non the flag-staff of the Tuileries. When bullets began to come through\nmy windows, I thought it time to be off while it was still possible.\nThen came the question how to get my box full of precious manuscripts,\n&c., belonging to the East India Company, to the train. The only\nrailway open was the line to Havre, which had been broken up close to\nthe station, but further on was intact, and in order to get there we\nhad to climb three barricades. I offered my _concierge_ five francs to\ncarry my box, but his wife would not hear of his risking his life in\nthe streets; ten francs\u2014the same result; but at the sight of a louis\nd\u2019or she changed her mind, and with an \u201cAllez, mon ami, allez\ntoujours,\u201d dispatched her husband on his perilous expedition. Arrived\nin London I went straight to the Prussian Legation, and was the first\nto give Bunsen the news of Louis Philippe\u2019s flight from Paris. Bunsen\ntook me off to see Lord Palmerston, and I was able to show him a\nbullet that I had picked up in my room as evidence of the bloody\nscenes that had been enacted in Paris. So even a poor scholar had to\nplay his small part in the events that go to make up history.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nEARLY DAYS AT OXFORD\n\n\nIt had been settled that my edition of the Rig-veda should be printed\nat the Oxford University Press, and I found that I had often to go\nthere to superintend the printing. Not that the printers required much\nsupervision, as I must say that the printing at the University Press\nwas, and is, excellent\u2014far better than anything I had known in\nGermany. In providing copy for a work of six volumes, each of about\n1000 pages, it was but natural that _lapsus calami_ should occur from\ntime to time. What surprised me was that several of these were\ncorrected in the proof-sheets sent to me. At last I asked whether\nthere was any Sanskrit scholar at Oxford who revised my proof-sheets\nbefore they were returned. I was told there was not, but that the\nqueries were made by the printer himself. That printer was an\nextraordinary man. His right arm was slightly paralysed, and he had\ntherefore been put on difficult slow work, such as Sanskrit. There are\nmore than 300 types which a printer must know in composing Sanskrit.\nMany of the letters in Sanskrit are incompatible, i. e. they cannot\nfollow each other, or if they do, they have to be modified. Every\n_d_, for instance, if followed by a _t_, is changed to _t_; every _dh_\nloses its aspiration, becomes likewise _t_, or changes the next _t_\ninto _dh_. Thus from _budh_ + _ta_, we have _Buddha_, i. e. awakened.\nIn writing I had sometimes neglected these modifications, but in the\nproof-sheets these cases were always either queried or corrected. When\nI asked the printer, who did not of course know a word of Sanskrit,\nhow he came to make these corrections, he said: \u201cWell, sir, my arm\ngets into a regular swing from one compartment of types to another,\nand there are certain movements that never occur. So if I suddenly\nhave to take up types which entail a new movement, I feel it, and I\nput a query.\u201d An English printer might possibly be startled in the\nsame way if in English he had to take up an _s_ immediately following\nan _h_. But it was certainly extraordinary that an unusual movement of\nthe muscles of the paralysed arm should have led to the discovery of a\nmistake in writing Sanskrit. In spite of the extreme accuracy of my\nprinter, however, I saw, that after all it would be better for myself,\nand for the Veda, if I were on the spot, and I decided to migrate from\nLondon to Oxford.\n\nMy first visit had filled me with enthusiasm for the beautiful old\ntown, which I regarded as an ideal home for a student. Besides, I\nfound that I was getting too gay in London, and in order to be able to\ndevote my evenings to society, I had to get up and begin work soon\nafter five. May, therefore, saw me established for the first time in\nOxford, in a small room in Walton Street. The moving of my books and\npapers from London did not take long. At that time my library could\nstill be accommodated in my portmanteau, it had not yet risen to\n12,000 volumes, threatening to drive me out of my house. A happy time\nit was when I possessed no books which I had not read, and no one sent\nbooks to me which I did not want, and yet had to find a place for in\nmy rooms, and to thank the author for his kindness.\n\nI at once found that my work went on more rapidly at Oxford than in\nLondon, though if I had expected to escape from all hospitality I\ncertainly was not allowed to do that. Accustomed as I was to the\nSpartan diet of a German _convictorium_, or a dinner at the Palais\nRoyal _\u00e0 deux francs_, the dinners to which I was invited by some of\nthe Fellows in Hall, or in Common Room, surprised me not a little. The\nold plate, the old furniture, and the whole style of living, impressed\nme deeply, particularly the after-dinner railway, an ingenious\ninvention for lightening the trouble of the guests who took wine in\nCommon Room. There was a small railway fixed before the fireplace, and\non it a wagon containing the bottles went backwards and forwards,\nhalting before every guest till he had helped himself. That railway, I\nam afraid, is gone now; and what is more serious, the pleasant, chatty\nevenings spent in Common Room are likewise a thing of the past.\nMarried Fellows, if they dine in Hall, return home after dinner, and\njunior Fellows go to their books or pupils. In my early Oxford days, a\nmarried Fellow would have sounded like a solecism. The story goes that\nmarried Fellows were not entirely unknown, and that you could hold\neven a fellowship, if you could hold your tongue. Young people,\nhowever, who did not possess that gift of silence, had often to wait\ntill they were fifty, before a college living fell vacant, and the\nquinquagenarian Fellow became a young husband and a young vicar.\n\nWhat impressed me, however, even more than the great hospitality of\nOxford, was the real friendliness shown to an unknown German scholar.\nAfter all, I had done very little as yet, but the kind words which\nBunsen and Dr. Prichard had spoken about me at the meeting of the\nBritish Association, had evidently produced an impression in my favour\nfar beyond what I deserved. I must have seemed a very strange bird,\nsuch as had never before built his nest at Oxford. I was very young,\nbut I looked even younger than I was, and my knowledge of the manners\nof society, particularly of English society, was really nil. Few\npeople knew what I was working at. Some had a kind of vague impression\nthat I had discovered a very old religion, older than the Jewish and\nthe Christian, which contained the key to many of the mysteries that\nhad puzzled the ancient, nay, even the modern world. Frequently, when\nI was walking through the streets of Oxford, I observed how people\nstared at me, and seemed to whisper some information about me.\nTradespeople did not always trust me, though I never owed a penny to\nanybody; when I wanted money I could always make it by going on faster\nwith printing the Rig-veda, for which I received four pounds a sheet.\nThis seemed to me then a large sum, though many a sheet took me at\nfirst more than a week to get ready, copy, collate, understand, and\nfinally print. If I was interested in any other subject, my exchequer\nsuffered accordingly\u2014but I could always retrieve my losses by sitting\nup late at night. Poor as I was, I never had any cares about money,\nand when I once began to write in English for English journals, I had\nreally more than I wanted. My first article in the _Edinburgh Review_\nappeared in October, 1851.\n\nAt that time the idea of settling at Oxford, of remaining in this\nacademic paradise, never entered my head. I was here to print my\nRig-veda and work at the Bodleian; that I should in a few years be an\nM.A. of Christ Church, a Fellow of the most exclusive of colleges,\nnay, a married Fellow\u2014a being not even invented then\u2014and a professor\nof the University, never entered into my wildest dreams. I could only\nadmire, and admire with all my heart. Everything seemed perfect, the\ngardens, the walks in the neighbourhood, the colleges, and most of all\nthe inhabitants of the colleges, both Fellows and undergraduates. My\nideas were still so purely continental that I could not understand\nhow the University could do such a thing as incorporate a foreign\nscholar\u2014could, in fact, govern itself without a Minister of Education\nto appoint professors, without a Royal Commissioner to look after the\nundergraduates and their moral and political sentiments. And here at\nOxford I was told that the Government did not know Oxford, nor Oxford\nthe Government, that the only ruling power consisted in the Statutes\nof the University, that professors and tutors were perfectly free so\nlong as they conformed to these statutes, and that certainly no\nminister could ever appoint or dismiss a professor, except the Regius\nprofessors. \u201cIf we want a thing done,\u201d my friends used to explain to\nme, \u201cwe do it ourselves, as long as it does not run counter to the\nstatutes.\u201d\n\nBut Oxford changes with every generation. It is always growing old,\nbut it is always growing young again. There was an old Oxford four\nhundred years ago, and there was an old Oxford fifty years ago. To a\nman who is taking his M.A. degree, Oxford, as it was when he was a\nfreshman, seems quite a thing of the past. By the public at large no\nplace is supposed to be so conservative, so unchanging, nay, so\nstubborn in resisting new ideas, as Oxford; and yet people who knew it\nforty or fifty years ago, like myself, find it now so changed that,\nwhen they look back they can hardly believe it is the same place. Even\narchitecturally the streets of the University have changed, and here\nnot always for the better. Architects unfortunately object to mere\nimitation of the old Oxford style of building; they want to produce\nsomething entirely their own, which may be very good by itself, but is\nnot always in harmony with the general tone of the college buildings.\nI still remember the outcry against the Taylor Institution, the only\nPalladian building at Oxford, and yet everybody has now grown\nreconciled to it, and even Ruskin lectured in it, which he would not\nhave done, if he had disapproved of its architecture. He would never\nlecture in the Indian Institute, and wrote me a letter sadly reproving\nme for causing Broad Street to be defaced by such a building, when I\nhad had absolutely nothing to do with it. He was very loud in his\ncondemnation of other new buildings. He abused even the New Museum,\nthough he had a great deal to do with it himself. He had hoped that it\nwould be the architecture of the future, but he confessed after a time\nthat he was not satisfied with the result.\n\nIn his days we still had the old Magdalen Bridge, the Bodleian\nunrestored, and no trams. Ruskin was so offended by the new bridge, by\nthe restored Bodleian, and by the tram-cars, that he would go ever so\nfar round to avoid these eyesores, when he had to deliver his\nlectures; and that was by no means an easy pilgrimage. There was, of\ncourse, no use in arguing with him. Most people like the new Magdalen\nBridge because it agrees better with the width of High Street; they\nconsider the Bodleian well restored, particularly now that the new\nstone is gradually toning down to the colour of the old walls, and as\nto tram-cars, objectionable as they are in many respects, they\ncertainly offend the eye less than the old dirty and rickety\nomnibuses. The new buildings of Merton, in the style of a London\npolice-station, offended him deeply, and with more justice,\nparticularly as he had to live next door to them when he had rooms at\nCorpus.\n\nThese new buildings could not be helped at Oxford. The stone, with\nwhich most of the old colleges were built, was taken from a quarry\nclose to Oxford, and began to peel off and to crumble in a very\ncurious manner. Artists like these chequered walls, and by moonlight\nthey are certainly picturesque, but the colleges had to think of what\nwas safe. My own college, All Souls, has ever so many pinnacles, and\nwe kept an architect on purpose to watch which of them were unsafe and\nhad to be restored or replaced by new ones. Every one of these\npinnacles cost us about fifty pounds, and at every one of our meetings\nwe were told that so many pinnacles had been tested, and wanted\nrepairing or replacing. Many years ago, when I was spending the whole\nLong Vacation at Oxford, I could watch from my windows a man who was\nsupposed to be testing the strength of these pinnacles. He was armed\nwith a large crowbar, which he ran with all his might against the\nunfortunate pinnacle. I doubt whether the walls of any Roman castellum\ncould have resisted such a ram. I spoke to some of the Fellows, and\nwhen the builder made his next report to us, we rather objected to the\nlarge number of invalids. He was not to be silenced, however, so\neasily, but told us with a very grave countenance that he could not\ntake the responsibility, as a pinnacle might fall any day on our\nWarden when he went to chapel. This, he thought, would settle the\nmatter. But no, it made no impression whatever on the junior Fellows,\nand the number of annual cripples was certainly very much reduced in\nconsequence.\n\nIt is true that Oxford has always loved what is old better than what\nis new, and has resisted most innovations to the very last. A\nwell-known liberal statesman used to say that when any measure of\nreform was before Parliament, he always rejoiced to see an Oxford\npetition against it, for that measure was sure to be carried very\nsoon. It should not be forgotten, however, that there always has been\na liberal minority at Oxford. It is still mentioned as something quite\nantediluvian, that Oxford, that is the Hebdomadal Council, petitioned\nagainst the Great Western Railway invading its sacred precincts; but\nit is equally true that not many years later it petitioned for a\nbranch line to keep the University in touch with the rest of the\nworld.\n\nMany things, of course, have been changed, and are changing every year\nbefore our very eyes; but what can never be changed, in spite of some\nrecent atrocities in brick and mortar, is the natural beauty of its\ngardens, and the historical character of its architecture. Whether\nFriar Bacon, as far back as the thirteenth century, admired the\ncolleges, chapels, and gardens of Oxford, we do not know; and even if\nwe did, few of them could have been the same as those which we admire\nto-day. We must not forget that Greene\u2019s _Honourable History of Friar\nBacon_ does not give us a picture of what Oxford was when seen by that\nfamous philosopher, who is sometimes claimed as a Fellow of Brasenose\nCollege, probably long before that College existed; but what is said\nin that play in praise of the University, may at least be taken as a\nrecollection of what Greene saw himself, when he took his degree as\nBachelor of Arts in 1578. In his play of the _History of Friar Bacon_,\nGreene introduces the Emperor of Germany, Henry II, 1212-50, as paying\na visit to Henry III of England, 1216-73, and he puts into his mouth\nthe following lines, which, though they cannot compare with Shelley\u2019s\nor Mat Arnold\u2019s, are at all events the earliest testimony to the\nnatural attractions of Oxford. Anyhow, Shelley\u2019s and Mat Arnold\u2019s\nlines are well known and are always quoted, so that I venture to quote\nGreene\u2019s lines, not for the sake of their beauty, but simply because\nthey are probably known to very few of my readers:\n\n    \u201cTrust me, Plantagenet, these Oxford schools\n     Are richly seated near the river-side:\n     The mountains full of fat and fallow deer,\n     The battling[10] pastures lade with kine and flocks,\n     The town gorgeous with high built colleges,\n     And scholars seemly in their grave attire.\u201d\n\n  [10] Will it be believed that the battels (bills) in College\n  are connected with this word?\n\nThe mountains round Oxford we must accept as a bold poetical licence,\nwhether they were meant for Headington Hill or Wytham Woods. The\nGerman traveller, Hentzner, who described Oxford in 1598, is more true\nto nature when he speaks of the wooded hills that encompass the plain\nin which Oxford lies.\n\nBut while the natural beauty of Oxford has always been admired and\npraised by strangers, the doctors and professors of the old University\nhave not always fared so well at the hands of English and foreign\ncritics. I shall not quote from Giordano Bruno, who visited England in\n1583-5, and calls Oxford \u201cthe widow of true science[11],\u201d but Milton\nsurely cannot be suspected of any prejudice against Oxford. Yet he\nwrites in 1656 in a letter to Richard Jones: \u201cThere is indeed plenty\nof amenity and salubrity in the place when you are there. There are\nbooks enough for the needs of a University: if only the amenity of the\nspot contributed so much to the genius of the inhabitants as it does\nto pleasant living, nothing would seem wanting to the happiness of the\nplace.\u201d\n\n  [11] _Opere_, ed. Wagner, i. p. 179.\n\nThese ill-natured remarks about the Oxford Dons seem to go on to the\nvery beginning of our century. The buildings and gardens are praised,\nbut by way of contrast, it would seem, or from some kind of jealousy,\ntheir inhabitants are always treated with ridicule. Not long ago a\nbook was published, _Memoirs of a Highland Lady_. Though published in\n1898, it should be remembered that the memoirs go back as far as 1809.\nNor should it be forgotten that at that time the authoress was hardly\nmore than thirteen years of age, and certainly of a very girlish, not\nto say frivolous, disposition. She stayed some time with the then\nMaster of University, Dr. Griffith, and for him, it must be said, she\nalways shows a certain respect. But no one else at Oxford is spared.\nShe arrived there at the time of Lord Grenville\u2019s installation as\nChancellor of the University. Though so young, she was taken to the\nTheatre, and this is her description of what she saw and heard:\u2014\u201cIt\nwas a shock to me; I had expected to be charmed with a play, instead\nof being nearly set to sleep by discourses in Latin from a pulpit.\nThere were some purple, and some gold, some robes and some wigs, a\ngreat crowd, and some stir at times, while a deal of humdrum speaking\nand dumb show was followed by the noisy demonstrations of the\nstudents, as they applauded or condemned the honours bestowed; but in\nthe main I tired of the heat and the mob, and the worry of these\nmornings, and so, depend upon it, did poor Lord Grenville, who sat up\nin the chair of state among the dignitaries, like the Grand Lama in\nhis temple guarded by his priests.\u201d One thing only she was delighted\nwith, that was the singing of Catalani at one of the concerts. Yet\neven here she cannot repress her remark that she sang \u201cGott safe the\nKing.\u201d She evidently was a flippant young lady or child, and with her\nsister, who afterwards joined her at Oxford, seems to have found\nherself quite a fish out of water in the grave society of the\nUniversity.\n\nThe room in the Master\u2019s Lodge which appalled her most and seems to\nhave been used as a kind of schoolroom, was the Library, full of\nDivinity books, but without curtains, carpet, or fireplace. Here they\nhad lessons in music, drawing, arithmetic, history, geography, and\nFrench. \u201cAnd the Master,\u201d she adds, \u201copened to us what had been till\nthen a sealed book, the New Testament, so that this visit to Oxford\nproved really one of the fortunate chances of my life.\u201d\n\nThis speaks well for the young lady, who in later life seems to have\noccupied a most honoured and influential position in Scotch society.\nBut Oxford society evidently found no favour in her eyes.\n\nHer uncle and aunt, as she tells us, were frequently out at dinner\nwith other Heads of Houses, for there was, of course, no other\nsociety. These dinners seem to have been very sumptuous, though their\nown domestic life was certainly very simple. For breakfast they had\ntea, and butter on their bread, and at dinner a small glass of ale,\ncollege home-brewed ale. \u201cHow fat we got!\u201d she exclaims. The Master\nseems to have been a man of refined taste, fond of drawing, and what\nwas called poker-painting; he was given also to caricaturing, and\nwriting of squibs. The two young ladies were evidently fond of his\nsociety, but of the other Oxford society she only mentions the\nultra-Tory politics, and the stupidity and frivolity of the Heads of\nHouses. \u201cThe various Heads,\u201d she writes, \u201cwith their respective wives,\nwere extremely inferior to my uncle and aunt. More than half of the\nDoctors of Divinity were of humble origin, the sons of small gentry or\ncountry clergy, or even of a lower grade. Many of these, constant to\nthe loves of their youth, brought ladies of inferior manners to grace\nwhat appeared to them so dignified a station. It was not a good style;\nthere was little talent, and less polish, and no sort of knowledge of\nthe world. And yet the ignorance of this class was less offensive than\nthe assumption of another, when a lady of high degree had fallen in\nlove with her brother\u2019s tutor, and got him handsomely provided for in\nthe Church, that she might excuse herself for marrying him. Of the\nlesser clergy, there were young witty ones\u2014odious; young learned\nones\u2014bores; and elderly ones\u2014pompous; all, however, of all grades,\nkind and hospitable. But the Christian pastor, humble, gentle,\nconsiderate, and self-sacrificing, had no representative, as far as I\ncould see, among these dealers in old wines, rich dinners, fine china,\nand massive plate.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe religion of Oxford appeared in those days to consist in honouring\nthe King and his Ministers, and in perpetually popping in and out of\nchapel. Chapel was announced by the strokes of a big hammer, beaten on\nevery staircase half an hour before by a scout. The education was\nsuited to Divinity. A sort of supervision was said to be kept over the\nyoung, riotous community, and to a certain extent the Proctors of the\nUniversity and the Deans of the different colleges did see that no\nvery open scandal was committed. There were rules that had in a\ngeneral way to be obeyed, and lectures that had to be attended, but as\nfor care to give high aims, provide refining amusements, give a worthy\ntone to the character of responsible beings, there was none ever even\nthought of. The very meaning of the word \u2018education\u2019 did not appear to\nbe understood. The college was a fit sequel to the school. The young\nmen herded together; they lived in their rooms, and they lived out of\nthem, in the neighbouring villages, where many had comfortable\nestablishments.... All sorts of contrivances were resorted to to\nenable the dissipated to remain out all night, to shield a culprit, to\ndeceive the dignitaries.\u201d This was in 1809, and even later.\n\nAnd yet with all this, and while we are told that those who attended\nlectures were laughed at, it seems strange that the best divines, and\nlawyers, and politicians of the first half of our century, some of\nwhom we may have known ourselves, must have been formed under that\nsystem. We can hardly believe that it was as bad as here described,\nand we must remember that much of the _Memoirs_ of this Scotch lady\ncan have been written from memory only, and long after the time when\nshe and her sister lived at University College. Life there, no doubt,\nmay have been very dull, as there were no other young ladies at\nOxford, and it cannot have been very amusing for these young girls to\ndine with sixteen Heads of Houses, all in wide silk cassocks, scarves\nand bands, one or two in powdered wigs, so that, as we are told, they\noften went home crying. All intercourse with the young men was\nstrictly forbidden, though it seems to have been not altogether\nimpossible to communicate, from the garden of the Master\u2019s Lodge, with\nthe young men bending out of the college windows, or climbing down to\nthe gardens.\n\nOne of these young men, who was at University College at the same\ntime, might certainly not have been considered a very desirable\ncompanion for these two Scotch girls. It was no other than Shelley.\nWhat they say of him does not tell us much that is new, yet it\ndeserves to be repeated. \u201cMr. Shelley,\u201d we read, \u201cafterwards so\ncelebrated, was half crazy. He began his career with every kind of\nwild prank at Eton. At University he was very insubordinate, always\ninfringing some rule, the breaking of which he knew could not be\noverlooked. He was slovenly in his dress, and when spoken to about\nthese and other irregularities, he was in the habit of making such\nextraordinary gestures, expressive of his humility under reproof, as\nto overset first the gravity and then the temper of the lecturing\ntutor. When he proceeded so far as to paste up atheistical squibs on\nthe chapel doors, it was considered necessary to expel him privately,\nout of regard to Sir Timothy Shelley, the father, who came up at once.\nHe and his son left Oxford together.\u201d\n\nNo one would recognize in this picture the University of Oxford, as it\nis at present. _Nous avons chang\u00e9 tout cela_ might be said with great\ntruth by the Heads of Houses, the Professors, and Fellows of the\npresent day. And yet what the Highland lady, or rather the Highland\ngirl, describes, refers to times not so long ago but that some of the\nmen we have known might have lived through it. How this change came\nabout I cannot tell, though I can bear testimony to a few survivals of\nthe old state of things.\n\nThe Oxford of 1848 was still the Oxford of the Heads of Houses and of\nthe Hebdomadal Board. That board consisted almost entirely of Heads of\nHouses, and a most important board it was, considering that the whole\nadministration of the University was really in its hands. The\ncolleges, on the other hand, were very jealous of their independence;\nand even the authority of the Proctors, who represented the University\nas such, was often contested within the gates of a college. It is\nwonderful that this old system of governing the University through the\nHeads of Houses should have gone on so long and so smoothly. Having\nbeen trusted by the Fellows of his own society with considerable power\nin the administration of his own college, it was supposed that the\nHead would prove equally useful in the administration of the\nUniversity. A Head of a House became at once a member of the Council.\nAnd, on the whole, they managed to drive the coach and horses very\nwell. But often when I had to take foreigners to hear the University\nSermon, and they saw a most extraordinary set of old gentlemen walking\ninto St. Mary\u2019s in procession, with a most startling combination of\ncolours, black and red, scarlet and pink, on their heavy gowns and\nsleeves, I found it difficult to explain who they were. \u201cAre they your\nprofessors?\u201d I was asked. \u201cOh, no,\u201d I said, \u201cthe professors don\u2019t wear\nred gowns, only Doctors of Divinity and of Civil Law, and as every\nHead of a House must have something to wear in public, he is\ninvariably made a Doctor.\u201d I remember one exception only, and at a\nmuch later time, namely, the Master of Balliol, who, like Canning at\nthe Congress of Vienna, considered it among his most valued\ndistinctions never to have worn the gown of a D.C.L. or D.D. It is\nwell known that when Marshal Bl\u00fccher was made a Doctor at Oxford he\nasked, in the innocence of his heart, that General Gneisenau, his\nright-hand man, might at least be made a chemist. He certainly had\nmixed a most effective powder for the French army under Napol\u00e9on.\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d my friend would ask, \u201chave you no _Senatus Academicus_, have\nyou no faculties of professors such as there are in all other\nChristian universities?\u201d \u201cYes and no,\u201d I said. \u201cWe have professors,\nbut they are not divided into faculties, and they certainly do not\nform the _Senatus Academicus_, or the highest authority in the\nUniversity.\u201d\n\nIt seems very strange, but it is nevertheless a fact, that as soon as\na good tutor is made a professor, he is considered of no good for the\nreal teaching work of the colleges. His lectures are generally\ndeserted; and I could quote the names of certain professors who\nafterwards rose to great eminence, but who at Oxford were simply\nignored and their lecture-rooms deserted. The real teaching or\ncoaching or cramming for examination is left to the tutors and Fellows\nof each college, and the examinations also are chiefly in their hands.\nMany undergraduates never see a professor, and, as far as the teaching\nwork of the University is concerned, the professorships might safely\nbe abolished. And yet, as I could honestly assure my foreign friends,\nthe best men who take honour degrees at Oxford are quite the equals of\nthe best men at Paris or Berlin. The professors may not be so\ndistinguished, but that is due to a certain extent to the small\nsalaries attached to some of the chairs. England has produced great\nnames both in science and philosophy and scholarship, but these have\ngenerally drifted to some more attractive or lucrative centres. When I\nfirst came to Oxford one professor received \u00a340 a year, another\n\u00a31,500, and no one complained about these inequalities. A certain\namount of land had been left by a king or bishop for endowing a\ncertain chair, and every holder of the chair received whatever the\nendowment yielded. The mode of appointing professors was very curious\nat that time. Often the elections resembled parliamentary elections,\nfar more regard being paid to political or theological partisanship\nthan to scientific qualifications. Every M.A. had a vote, and these\nvoters were scattered all over the country. Canvassing was carried on\nquite openly. Travelling expenses were freely paid, and lists were\nkept in each college of the men who could be depended on to vote for\nthe liberal or the conservative candidate. Imagine a professor of\nmedicine or of Greek being elected because he was a liberal! Some\nappointments rested with the Prime Minister, or, as it was called, the\nCrown; and it was quoted to the honour of the Duke of Wellington, that\nhe, when Chancellor of the University, once insisted that the electors\nshould elect the best man, and they had to yield, though there were\nelectors who would declare their own candidate the best man, whatever\nthe opinion of really qualified judges might be. All this election\nmachinery is much improved now, though an infallible system of\nelecting the best men has not yet been discovered. One single elector,\nwho is not troubled by too tender a conscience, may even now vitiate a\nwhole election; to say nothing of the painful position in which an\nelector is placed, if he has to vote against a personal friend or a\nmember of his own college, particularly when the feeling that it is\ndishonourable to disclose the vote of each elector is no longer strong\nenough to protect the best interests of the University.\n\nIt took me some time before I could gain an insight into all this. The\nold system passed away before my very eyes, not without evident\nfriction between my different friends, and then came the difficulty of\nlearning to understand the working of the new machinery which had been\ndevised and sanctioned by Parliament. Reformers arose even among the\nHeads of Houses, as, for instance, Dr. Jeune, the Master of Pembroke\nCollege, who was credited with having _rajeuni l\u2019ancienne universit\u00e9_.\nBut he was by no means the only, or even the chief actor in University\nreform. Many of my personal friends, such as Dr. Tait, afterwards\nArchbishop of Canterbury, the Rev. H. G. Liddell, afterwards Dean of\nChrist Church, Professor Baden-Powell, and the Rev. G. H. S. Johnson,\nafterwards Dean of Wells, with Stanley and Goldwin Smith as\nSecretaries, did honest service in the various Royal and Parliamentary\nCommissions, and spent much of their valuable time in serving the\nUniversity and the country. I could do no more than answer the\nquestions addressed to me by the Commissioners and by my friends, and\nthis is really all the share I had at that time in the reform of the\nUniversity, or what was called Germanizing the English Universities.\nAt one time such was the unpopularity of these reformers in the\nUniversity itself that one of them asked one of the junior professors\nto invite him to dinner, because the Heads of Houses would no longer\nadmit him to their hospitable boards.\n\nCertainly to have been a member of the much abused Hebdomadal Board,\nand a Head of a College in those pre-reform days must have been a\ndelightful life. Before the days of agricultural distress the income\nof the colleges was abundant; the authority of the Heads was\nunquestioned in their own colleges; not only undergraduates, but\nFellows also had to be submissive. No junior Fellow would then have\ndared to oppose his Head at college meetings. If there was by chance\nan obstreperous junior, he was easily silenced or requested to retire.\nThe days had not yet come when a Master of Trinity ventured to remark\nthat even a junior Fellow might possibly be mistaken. Colleges seemed\nto be the property of the Heads, and in some of them the Fellows were\nreally chosen by them, and the rest of the Fellows after some kind of\nexamination. The management of University affairs was likewise\nentirely in the hands of the Heads of Colleges, and it was on rare\noccasions only that a theological question stirred the interest of\nnon-resident M.A.s, and brought them to Oxford to record their vote\nfor or against the constituted authorities. Men like the Dean of\nChrist Church, Dr. Gaisford, the Warden of Wadham, Dr. Parsons, and\nthe Provost of Oriel, Dr. Hawkins, were in their dominions supreme,\ntill the rebellious spirit began to show itself in such men as Dr.\nJeune, Professor Baden-Powell, A. P. Stanley, Goldwin Smith and\nothers.\n\nNor were there many very flagrant abuses under the old r\u00e9gime. It was\nrather the want of life that was complained of. It began to be felt\nthat Oxford should take its place as an equal by the side of foreign\nUniversities, not only as a high school, but as a home of what then\nwas called for the first time \u201coriginal research.\u201d There can be no\nquestion that as a teaching body, as a high school at the head of all\nthe public schools in England, Oxford did its duty nobly. A man who at\nthat time could take a Double First was indeed a strong man, well\nfitted for any work in after life. He would not necessarily turn out\nan original thinker, a scholar, or a discoverer in physical science,\nbut he would know what it was to know anything thoroughly. To take\nhonours at the same time in classics and mathematics required strength\nand grasp, and the effort was certainly considerable, as I found out\nwhen occasionally I read a Greek or Latin author with a young\nundergraduate friend. What struck me most was the accurate knowledge\na candidate acquired of special authors and special books, but also\nthe want of that familiarity with the language, Greek or Latin, which\nwould enable him to read any new author with comparative ease. The\nyoung men whom I knew at the time they went in for their final\nexamination, were certainly well grounded in classics, and what they\nknew they knew thoroughly.\n\nThe personal relations existing between undergraduates and their\ntutors were very intimate. A tutor took a pride in his pupils, and\noften became their friend for life. The teaching was almost private\nteaching, and the idea of reading a written lecture to a class in\ncollege did not exist as yet. It was real teaching with questions and\nanswers; while lectures, written and read out, were looked down upon\nas good enough for professors, but entirely useless for the schools.\nThe social tone of the University was excellent. Many of the tutors\nand of the undergraduates came of good families, and the struggle for\nlife, or for a college living, or college office, was not, as yet, so\nfierce as it became afterwards. College tutors toiled on for life, and\ncertainly did their work to the last most conscientiously. There was\nperhaps little ambition, little scheming or pushing, but the work of\nthe University, such as the country would have it, was well done. If\nthe Honour-Lists were small, the number of utter failures also was not\nvery large.\n\nFor a young scholar, like myself, who came to live at Oxford in those\ndistant days, the peace and serenity of life were most congenial,\nthough several of my friends were among the first who began to fret,\nand wished for more work to be done and for better use to be made of\nthe wealth and the opportunities of the University. My impression at\nthat time was the same as it has been ever since, that a reform of the\nUniversities was impossible till the public schools had been\nthoroughly reformed. The Universities must take what the schools send\nthem. There is every year a limited number of boys from the best\nschools who would do credit to any University. But a large number of\nthe young men who are sent up to matriculate at Oxford are not up to\nan academic standard. Unless the colleges agree to stand empty for a\nyear or two, they cannot help themselves, but have to keep the\nstandard of the matriculation examination low, and in fact do, to a\ngreat extent, the work that ought to have been done at school. Think\nof boys being sent up to Oxford, who, after having spent on an average\nsix years at a public school, are yet unable to read a line of Greek\nor Latin which they have not seen before. Yet so it was, and so it is,\nunless I am very much misinformed. It is easy for some colleges who\nkeep up a high standard of matriculation to turn out first-class men;\nthe real burden falls on the colleges and tutors who have to work hard\nto bring their pupils up to the standard of a pass degree, and few\npeople have any idea how little a pass degree may mean. Those tutors\nhave indeed hard work to do and get little credit for it, though their\ndevotion to their college and their pupils is highly creditable. Fifty\nyears ago even a pass degree was more difficult than it is now,\nbecause candidates were not allowed to pass in different subjects at\ndifferent times, but the whole examination had to be done all at once,\nor not at all.\n\nI had naturally made it a rule at Oxford to stand aloof from the\nconflict of parties, whether academical, theological, or political. I\nhad my own work to do, and it did not seem to me good taste to obtrude\nmy opinions, which naturally were different from those prevalent at\nOxford. Most people like to wash their dirty linen among themselves;\nand though I gladly talked over such matters with my friends who often\nconsulted me, I did not feel called upon to join in the fray. I lived\nthrough several severe crises at Oxford, and though I had some\nintimate friends on either side, I remained throughout a looker on.\n\nSeldom has a University passed through such a complete change as\nOxford has since the year 1854. And yet the change was never violent,\nand the University has passed through its ordeal really rejuvenated\nand reinvigorated. It has been said that our constitution has now\nbecome too democratic, and that a University should be ruled by a\nSenatus rather than by a Juventus. This is true to a certain extent.\nThere has been too much unrest, too constant changes, and a lack of\ncontinuity in the studies and in the government of the University.\nEvery three years a new wave of young masters came in, carried a\nreform in the system of teaching and examining, and then left to make\nroom for a new wave which brought new ideas, before the old ones had a\nfair trial. Senior members of the University, heads of houses and\nprofessors, have no more voting power than the young men who have just\ntaken their degrees, nay, have in reality less influence than these\nyoung Masters, who always meet together and form a kind of compact\nphalanx when votes are to be taken. There was even a Non-placet club,\nready to throw out any measure that seemed to emanate from the\nreforming party, or threatened to change any established customs,\nwhether beneficial or otherwise to the University. The University, as\nsuch, was far less considered than the colleges, and money drawn from\nthe colleges for University purposes was looked upon as robbery,\nthough of course the colleges profited by the improvement of the\nUniversity, and the interests of the two ought never to have been\ndivided, as little as the interests of an army can be divided from the\ninterests of each regiment.\n\nWhen I came to Oxford there was still practically no society except\nthat of the Heads of Houses, and there were no young ladies to grace\ntheir dinners. Each head took his turn in succession, and had twice or\nthree times during term to feed his colleagues. These dinners were\nsumptuous repasts, though they often took place as early as five. To\nbe invited to them was considered a great distinction, and, though a\nvery young man, I was allowed now and then to be present, and I highly\nappreciated the honour. The company consisted almost entirely of Heads\nof Houses, Canons, and Professors; sometimes there was a sprinkling of\ndistinguished persons from London, and even of ladies of various ages\nand degrees. I confess I often sat among them, as we say in German,\n_verrathen und verkauft_. After dinner I saw a number of young men\nstreaming in, and thought the evening would now become more lively.\nBut far from it. These young men with white ties and in evening dress\nstood in their scanty gowns huddled together on one side of the room.\nThey received a cup of tea, but no one noticed them or spoke to them,\nand they hardly dared to speak among themselves. This, as I was told,\nwas called \u201cdoing the perpendicular,\u201d and they must have felt much\nrelieved when towards ten o\u2019clock they were allowed to depart, and\nexchange the perpendicular for a more comfortable position, indulging\nin songs and pleasant talk, which I sometimes was invited to join.\n\nAt that time I remember only very few houses outside the circle of\nHeads of Houses, where there was a lady and a certain amount of social\nlife\u2014the houses of Dr. Acland, Dr. Greenhill, Professor Baden-Powell,\nProfessor Donkin, and Mr. Greswell. In their houses there was less of\nthe strict academical etiquette, and as they were fond of music,\nparticularly the Donkins, I spent some really delightful evenings with\nthem. Nay, as I played on the pianoforte, even the Heads of Houses\nbegan to patronize music at their evening parties, though no gentleman\nat that time would have played at Oxford. I being a German, and\nProfessor Donkin being a confirmed invalid, we were allowed to play,\nand we certainly had an appreciative, though not always a silent,\naudience.\n\nIn one respect, the old system of Oxford Fellowships was still very\nperceptible in the society of the University. No Fellows were allowed\nto marry, and the natural consequence was that most of them waited for\na college living, a professorship or librarianship, which generally\ncame to them when they were no longer young men. Headships of colleges\nalso had so long to be waited for that most of them were generally\nfilled by very senior and mostly unmarried men. Besides, headships\nwere but seldom given for excellence in scholarship, science, or even\ndivinity, but for the sake of personal popularity, and for business\nhabits. Some of the Fellows gave pleasant and, as I thought, very\nLucullic dinners in college; and I still remember my surprise when I\nwas asked to the first dinner in Common Room at Jesus College. My host\nwas Mr. Ffoulkes, who afterwards became a Roman Catholic, and then an\nAnglican clergyman again. The carpets, the curtains, the whole\nfurniture and the plate quite confounded me, and I became still more\nconfounded when I was suddenly called upon to make a speech at a time\nwhen I could hardly put two words together in English.\n\nThe City society was completely separated from the University society,\nso that even rich bankers and other gentlemen would never have\nventured to ask members of the University to dine.\n\nConsidering the position then held by the Heads of Houses, I feel I\nought to devote some pages to describing some of the most prominent of\nthem. At my age I may well hold to the maxim _seniores priores_, and\nwill therefore begin with Dr. Routh, the centenarian President of\nMagdalen, as, though, the headship of a house seems to be an excellent\nprescription for longevity, there was no one to dispute the venerable\ndoctor\u2019s claim to precedence in this respect. He was then nearly a\nhundred years old, and he died in his hundredth year, and obtained his\nwish to have the _C, anno centesimo_, on his gravestone, for, though\ntired of life, he often declared, so I was told, that he would not be\noutdone in this respect by another very old man, who was a dissenter;\nhe never liked to see the Church beaten. I might have made his\npersonal acquaintance, some friends of the old President offering to\npresent me to him. But I did not avail myself of their offer, because\nI knew the old man did not like to be shown as a curiosity. When I saw\nhim sitting at his window he always wore a wig, and few had seen him\nwithout his wig and without his academic gown. He was certainly an\nexceptional man, and I believe he stood alone in the whole history of\nliterature, as having published books at an interval of seventy years.\nHis edition of the _Enthymemes_ and _Gorgias of Plato_ was published\nin 1784, his papers on the _Ignatian Epistles_ in 1854. His _Reliquia\nSacra_ first appeared in 1814, and they are a work which at that time\nwould have made the reputation of any scholar and divine. His editions\nof historical works, such as Burnet\u2019s _History of his own Time_ and\nthe _History of the reign of King James_, show his considerable\nacquaintance with English history. I have already mentioned how he\nused to speak of events long before his time, such as the execution of\nCharles I, as if he had been present; nor did he hesitate to declare\nthat even Bishop Burnet was a great liar. He certainly had seen many\nthings which connected him with the past. He had seen Samuel Johnson\nmounting the steps of the Clarendon building in Broad Street, and\nthough he had not himself seen Charles I when he held his Parliament\nat Oxford, he had known a lady whose mother had seen the king walking\nround the Parks at Oxford.\n\nHowever, we must not forget that many stories about the old President\nwere more or less mythical, as indeed many Oxford stories are. I was\ntold that he actually slept in wig, cap and gown, so that once when\nan alarm of fire was raised in the quadrangle of his College, he put\nhis head out of window in an incredibly short time, fully equipped as\nabove. Many of these stories or \u201cCommon-Roomers\u201d as they were called,\nstill lived in the Common Rooms in my time, when the Fellows of each\nCollege assembled regularly after dinner, to take wine and dessert,\nand to talk on anything but what was called _Shop_, i. e. Greek and\nLatin. No one inquired about the truth of these stories, as long as\nthey were well told. In a place like Oxford there exists a regular\ndescent, by inheritance, of good stories. I remember stories told of\nDr. Jenkins, as Master of Balliol, and afterwards transferred to his\nsuccessor, Mr. Jowett. Bodleian stories descended in like manner from\nDr. Bandinell to Mr. Coxe, and will probably be told of successive\nlibrarians till they become quite incongruous. I am old enough to have\nwatched the descent of stories at Oxford, just as one recognizes the\nsame furniture in college rooms occupied by successive generations of\nundergraduates. To me they sometimes seem threadbare like the old\nTurkish carpets in the college rooms, but I never spoil them by\nbetraying their age, and, if well told, I can enjoy them as much as if\nI had never heard them before.\n\nDr. Hawkins, Provost of Oriel, was quite a representative of Old\nOxford, and a well-known character in the University. I had been\nintroduced to him by Baron Bunsen, and he showed me much hospitality.\nI was warned that I should find him very stiff and forbidding. His own\nFellows called him the East-wind. But though he certainly was\ncondescending, he treated me with great urbanity. He had a very\npeculiar habit; when he had to shake hands with people whom he\nconsidered his inferiors, he stretched out two fingers, and if some of\nthem who knew this peculiarity of his, tendered him two fingers in\nreturn, the shaking of hands became rather awkward. One of the Fellows\nof his college told me that, as long as he was only a Fellow, he never\nreceived more than two fingers; when, however, he became Head Master\nof a school, he was rewarded with three fingers, or even with the\nwhole hand, but, as soon as he gave up this place, and returned to\nlive in college, he was at once reduced to the statutable two fingers.\nI don\u2019t recollect exactly how many fingers I was treated to, and I may\nhave shaken them with my whole hand. Anyhow, I am quite conscious now\nof how many times I must have offended against academic etiquette.\nHow, for instance, is a man to know that people who live at Oxford\nduring term-time never shake hands except once during term? I doubt,\nin fact, whether that etiquette existed when I first came to Oxford,\nbut it certainly had existed for some time before I discovered it.\n\nDr. Jenkins, Master of Balliol, was also the hero of many anecdotes.\nIt was of him that it was first told how he once found fault with an\nundergraduate because, whenever he looked out of window, he\ninvariably saw the young man loitering about in the quad; to which the\nundergraduate replied: \u201cHow very curious, for whenever I cross the\nquad, I always see you, Sir, looking out of window.\u201d He had a quiet\nhumour of his own, and delighted in saying things which made others\nlaugh, but never disturbed a muscle of his own face. One of his\nundergraduates was called Wyndham, and he had to say a few sharp words\nto him at \u201chandshaking,\u201d that is, at the end of term. After saying all\nhe wanted, he finished in Latin: \u201cEt nunc valeas Wyndhamme,\u201d\u2014the last\ntwo syllables being pronounced with great emphasis. The Master\u2019s\nregard for his own dignity was very great. Once, when returning from a\nsolitary walk, he slipped and fell. Two undergraduates seeing the\naccident ran to assist him, and were just laying hands on him to lift\nhim up, when he descried a Master of Arts coming. \u201cStop,\u201d he cried,\n\u201cstop, I see a Master of Arts coming down the street.\u201d And he\ndismissed the undergraduates with many thanks, and was helped on to\nhis legs by the M.A.\n\nAccidents, or slips of the tongue, will happen to everybody, even to a\nHead of a House. One of these old gentlemen, Dr. Symons, of Wadham,\nwhen presiding at a missionary meeting, had to introduce Sir Peregrine\nMaitland, a most distinguished officer, and a thoroughly good man.\nWhen dilating on the Christian work which Sir Peregrine had done in\nIndia, he called him again and again Sir Peregrine Pickle. The effect\nwas most ludicrous, for everybody was evidently well acquainted with\n_Roderick Random_, and Sir Peregrine had great difficulty in remaining\nserious when the Chairman called on Sir Peregrine Pickle once more to\naddress his somewhat perplexed audience.\n\nBut whatever may be said about the old Heads of Houses, most of them\nwere certainly gentlemen both by birth and by nature. They are\nforgotten now, but they did good in their time, and much of their good\nwork remains. If I consider who were the Dean and Canons and Students\nI met at Christ Church when I first became a member of the House, I\nshould have to give a very different account from that given by the\nHighland lady in her _Memoirs_. The Dean of Christ Church, who\nreceived me, who proposed me for the degree of M.A., and afterwards\nallowed me to become a member of the House, was Dr. Gaisford, a real\nscholar, though it may be of the old school. He was considered very\nrough and rude, but I can only say he showed me more of real courtesy\nin those days than anybody else at Oxford. He was, I believe, a little\nshy, and easily put out when he suspected anybody, particularly the\nyoung men, of want of consideration. I can quite believe that when an\nundergraduate, in addressing him, stepped on the hearthrug on which he\nwas standing, he may have said: \u201cGet down from my hearthrug,\u201d meaning,\n\u201ckeep at your proper distance.\u201d I can only say that I never found him\nanything but kind and courteous. It so happened that he had been made\na Member of the Bavarian Academy, and I, though very young, had\nreceived the same distinction as a reward for my Sanskrit work, and\nthe Dean was rather pleased when he heard it. When I asked him whether\nhe would put my name on the books of the House, he certainly hesitated\na little, and asked me at last to come again next day and dine with\nhim. I went, but I confess I was rather afraid that the Dean would\nraise difficulties. However, he spoke to me very nicely, \u201cI have\nlooked through the books,\u201d he said, \u201cand I find two precedents of\nGermans being members of the House, one of the name of Wernerus, and\nanother of the name of Nitzschius,\u201d or some such name. \u201cBut,\u201d he\ncontinued, smiling, \u201ceven if I had not found these names, I should not\nhave minded making a precedent of your case.\u201d People were amazed at\nOxford when they heard of the Dean\u2019s courtesy, but I can only repeat\nthat I never found him anything but courteous.\n\nMost of the Heads of Houses asked me to dine with them by sending me\nan invitation. The Dean alone first came and called on me. I was then\nliving in a small room in Walton Street in which I worked, and dined,\nand smoked. My bedroom was close by, and I generally got up early, and\nshaved and finished my toilet at about 11 o\u2019clock. I had just gone\ninto my bedroom to shave, my face was half covered with lather, when\nmy landlady rushed in and told me the Dean had called, and my dogs\nwere pulling him about. The fact was I had a Scotch terrier with a\nlitter of puppies in a basket, and when the Dean entered in full\nacademical dress, the dogs flew at him, pulling the sleeves of his\ngown and barking furiously. Covered with lather as I was, I had to\nrush in to quiet the dogs, and in this state I had to receive the Very\nRev. the Dean, and explain to him the nature of the work that brought\nme to Oxford. It was certainly awkward, but in spite of the disorder\nof my room, in spite also of the tobacco smoke of which the Dean did\nnot approve, all went off well, though, I confess, I felt somewhat\nashamed. In the same interview the Dean asked me about an Icelandic\nDictionary which had been offered to the press by Cleasby and Dasent.\n\u201cSurely it is a small barbarous island,\u201d he said, \u201cand how can they\nhave any literature?\u201d I tried, as well as I could, to explain to the\nDean the extent and the value of Icelandic literature, and soon after\nthe press, which was then the Dean, accepted the Dictionary which was\nbrought out later by Dr. Vigfusson, in a most careful and scholarlike\nmanner. It might indeed safely be called his Dictionary, considering\nhow many dictionaries are called, not after the name of the compiler\nor compilers, but after that of their editor.\n\nThis Dr. Vigfusson was quite a character. He was perfectly pale and\nbloodless, and had but one wish, that of being left alone. He came to\nOxford first to assist Dr. Dasent, to whom Cleasby, when he died, had\nhanded over his collections; but afterwards he stayed, taking it for\ngranted that the University would give him the little he wanted. But\neven that little was difficult to provide, as there were no funds that\ncould be used for that purpose, however uselessly other funds might\nseem to be squandered. That led to constant grumbling on his part.\nEver so many expedients were tried to satisfy him, but none quite\nsucceeded. At last he fell ill and died, and when he was a patient at\nthe Acland Home, where the nurses did all they could for him, he\nseveral times said to me when I sat with him, that he had never been\nso happy in his life as in that Home. I sometimes blame myself for not\nhaving seen more of him at Oxford. But he always seemed to me full of\nsuspicions and very easily offended, and that made any free\nintercourse with him difficult and far from pleasant. Perhaps it was\nmy fault also. He may have felt that he might have claimed a\nprofessorship of Icelandic quite as well as I, and he may have grudged\nmy settled position in Oxford, my independence and my freedom.\nWhenever we did work together, I always found him pleasant at first,\nbut very soon he would become wayward and sensitive, do what I would,\nand I had to let him go his own way, as I went mine.\n\nI remember dining with the famous Dr. Bull, Canon of Christ Church,\nwho certainly managed to produce a dinner that would have done credit\nto any French chef. He was one of the last pluralists, and many\nstories were told about him. One story, which however was perfectly\ntrue, showed at all events his great sagacity. A well-known banker had\nbeen for years the banker of Christ Church. Dr. Bull who was the\nCollege Bursar had to transact all the financial business with him. No\none suspected the banking house which he represented. Dr. Bull,\nhowever, the last time he invited him to dinner, was struck by his\nvery pious and orthodox remarks, and by the change of tone in his\nconversation, such as might suit a Canon of Christ Church, but not a\nluxurious banker from London. Without saying a word, Dr. Bull went to\nLondon next day, drew out all the money of the college, took all his\npapers from the bank, and the day after, to the dismay of London, the\nbank failed, the depositors lost their money, but Christ Church was\nunhurt.\n\nAnother of the Canons of Christ Church at that time had spent half a\ncentury in the place, and read the lessons there twice every day. Of\ncourse he knew the prayer-book by heart, and as long as he could see\nto read there was no harm in his reading. But when his eyesight failed\nhim and he had to trust entirely to his memory, he would often go from\nsome word in the evening prayer to the same word in the marriage\nservice, and from there to the burial service, with an occasional slip\ninto baptism. The result of it was that he was no longer allowed to\nread the service in Chapel except during Long Vacation when the young\nmen were away. I frequently stayed at Oxford during vacation, and\nthought of course that the evening service would never end, till at\nlast I was asked to name the child, and then I went home.\n\nOne Sunday I remember going to chapel, and after prayers had begun the\nfollowing conversation took place, loud enough to be heard all through\nthe chapel. Enter old Canon preceded by a beadle. He goes straight to\nhis stall, and finding it occupied by a well-known D.D. from London,\nwho is deeply engaged in prayer, he stands and looks at the\ninterloper, and when that produces no effect, he says to the beadle:\n\u201cTell that man this is my stall; tell him to get out.\u201d\n\nBeadle: \u201cDr. A.\u2019s compliments, and whether you would kindly occupy\nanother stall.\u201d\n\nD.D.: \u201cVery sorry; I shall change immediately.\u201d\n\nOld Canon settles in his stall, prayers continue, and after about ten\nminutes the Canon shouts: \u201cBeadle, tell that man to dine with me at\nfive.\u201d\n\nBeadle: \u201cDr. A.\u2019s compliments, and whether you would give him the\npleasure of your company at dinner at five.\u201d\n\nD.D.: \u201cVery sorry, I am engaged.\u201d\n\nBeadle: \u201cD.D. regrets he is engaged.\u201d\n\nOld Canon: \u201cOh, he won\u2019t dine!\u201d\n\nThe cathedral was very empty, and fortunately this conversation was\nlistened to by a small congregation only. I can, however, vouch for\nit, as I was sitting close by and heard it myself.\n\nBodley\u2019s Library, too, was full of good stories, though many of them\ndo not bear repeating. When I first began to work there, Dr. Bandinell\nwas Bodleian Librarian. Working in the Bodleian was then like working\nin one\u2019s private library. One could have as many books and MSS. as one\ndesired, and the six hours during which the Library was open were a\nvery fair allowance for such tiring work as copying and collating\nSanskrit MSS. I well remember my delight when I first sat down at my\ntable near one of the windows looking into the garden of Exeter. It\nseemed a perfect paradise for a student. I must confess that I\nslightly altered my opinion when I had to sit there every day during a\nsevere winter without any fire, shivering and shaking, and almost\nunable to hold my pen, till kind Mr. Coxe, the sub-librarian, took\ncompassion on me and brought me a splendid fur that had been sent him\nas a present by a Russian scholar, who had witnessed the misery of the\nLibrarian in this Siberian Library. Now all this is changed. The\nLibrary is so full of students, both male and female, that one has\ndifficulty in finding a place, certainly in finding a quiet place; and\nall sorts of regulations have been introduced which have no doubt\nbecome necessary on account of the large number of readers, but which\nhave completely changed, or as some would say, improved the character\nof the place. As to one improvement, however, there can be no two\nopinions. The Library and the reading-room, the so-called Camera, are\nnow comfortably warmed, and students may in the latter place read for\ntwelve hours uninterruptedly, and not be turned out as we were by a\nwarning bell at four o\u2019clock. And woe to you if you failed to obey the\nwarning. One day an unfortunate reader was so absorbed in his book\nthat he did not hear the bell, and was locked in. He tried in vain to\nattract attention from the windows, for it was no pleasant prospect to\npass a night among so many ghosts. At last he saw a solitary woman,\nand shouted to her that he was locked in. \u201cNo,\u201d she said, \u201cyou are\nnot. The Library is closed at four.\u201d Whether he spent the night among\nthe books is not known. Let us hope that he met with a less logical\nperson to release him from his cold prison.\n\nDr. Bandinell ruled supreme in his library, and even the Curators\ntrembled before him when he told them what had been the invariable\ncustom of the Library for years, and could not be altered. And,\ncuriously enough, he had always funds at his disposal, which is not\nthe case now, and whenever there was a collection of valuable MSS. in\nthe market he often prided himself on having secured it long before\nany other library had the money ready. Now and then, it is true, he\nallowed himself to be persuaded by a plausible seller of rare books\nor MSS., but generally he was very wary. He was not always very\ncourteous to visitors, and still less so to his under-librarians. The\nOriental under-librarian Professor Reay, in particular, who was old\nand somewhat infirm, had much to suffer from him, and the language in\nwhich he was ordered about was such as would not now be addressed to\nany menial. And yet Professor Reay belonged to a very good family,\nthough Dr. Bandinell would insist on calling him Ray, and declared\nthat he had no right to the e in his name. In revenge some people\nwould give him an additional i and call him Dr. Bandinelli, which made\nhim very angry, because, as he would say to me, \u201che had never been one\nof those dirty foreigners.\u201d Silence was enjoined in the library, but\nthe librarian\u2019s voice broke through all rules of silence. I remember\nonce, when Professor Reay had been looking for ever so long to find\nhis spectacles without which he could not read the Arabic MSS., and\nhad asked everybody whether they had seen them, a voice came at last\nthundering through the library: \u201cYou left your spectacles on my chair,\nyou old ----, and I sat on them!\u201d There was an end of spectacles and\nArabic MSS. after that. There were two men only of whom Dr. Bandinell\nand H. O. Coxe also were afraid, Dr. Pusey, who was one of the\nCurators, and later on, Jowett, the Master of Balliol.\n\nThere was a vacancy in the Oriental sub-librarianship, and a very\ndistinguished young Hebrew scholar, William Wright, afterwards\nProfessor at Cambridge, was certainly by far the best candidate. But\nas ill-luck\u2014I mean ill-luck for the Library\u2014would have it, he had\ngiven offence by a lecture at Dublin, in which he declared that the\npeople of Canaan were Semitic, and not, as stated in Genesis, the\nchildren of Ham. No one doubts this now, and every new inscription has\nconfirmed it. Still a strong effort was made to represent Dr. Wright\nas a most dangerous young man, and thus to prevent his appointment at\nOxford. The appointment was really in the hands of Dr. Bandinell; and\nafter I had frankly explained to him the motives of this mischievous\nagitation against Dr. Wright, and assured him that he was a scholar\nand by no means given to what was then called \u201cfree-handling of the\nOld Testament,\u201d he promised me that he would appoint him and no one\nelse. However, poor man, he was urged and threatened and frightened,\nand to my great surprise the appointment was given to some one else,\nwho at that time had given hardly any proofs of independent work as a\nSemitic scholar, though he afterwards rendered very good and honest\nservice. I did not disguise my opinion of what had happened; and for\nmore than a year Dr. Bandinell never spoke to me nor I to him, though\nwe met almost daily at the library. At last the old man, evidently\nfeeling that he had been wrong, came to tell me that he was sorry for\nwhat had happened, but that it was not his fault: after this, of\ncourse, all was forgotten. Dr. Wright had a much more brilliant career\nopened to him, first at the British Museum, and then as professor at\nCambridge, than he could possibly have had as sub-librarian at Oxford.\nHe always remained a scholar, and never dabbled in theology.\n\nSome very heated correspondence passed at the time, and I remember\nkeeping the letters for a long while. They were curious as showing the\nthen state of theological opinion at Oxford; but I have evidently put\nthe correspondence away so carefully that nowhere can I find it now.\nLet it be forgotten and forgiven.\n\nMany, if not all, of the stories that I have written down in this\nchapter may be legendary, and they naturally lose or gain as told by\ndifferent people. Who has not heard different versions of the story of\na well-known Canon of Christ Church in my early days, who, when rowing\non the river, saw a drowning man laying hold of his boat and nearly\nupsetting it. \u201cProvidentially,\u201d he explained, \u201cI had brought my\numbrella, and I had presence of mind enough to hit him over the\nknuckles. He let go, sank, and never rose again.\u201d Nobody, I imagine,\nwould have vouched for the truth of this story, but it was so often\nrepeated that it provided the old gentleman with a nickname, that\nstuck to him always.\n\nI could add more Oxford stories, but it seems almost ill-natured to do\nso, and I could only say in most cases _relata refero_. When I first\ncame here Oxford and Oxford society were to me so strange that I\nprobably accepted many similar stories as gospel truth. My young\nfriends hardly treated me quite fairly in this respect. I had many\nquestions to ask, and my friends evidently thought it great fun to\nchaff me and to tell me stories which I naturally believed, for there\nwere many things which seemed to me very strange, and yet they were\ntrue and I had to believe them. The existence of Fellows who received\nfrom \u00a3300 to \u00a3800 a year, as a mere sinecure for life, provided they\ndid not marry, seemed to me at first perfectly incredible. In Germany\neducation at Public Schools and Universities was so cheap that even\nthe poorest could manage to get what was wanted for the highest\nemployments, particularly if they could gain an exhibition or\nscholarship. But after a man had passed his examinations, the country\nor the government had nothing more to do with him. \u201cSwim or drown\u201d was\nthe maxim followed everywhere; and it was but natural that the first\nyears of professional life, whether as lawyers, medical men, or\nclergymen, were years of great self-denial. But they were also years\nof intense struggle, and the years of hunger are said to have\naccounted for a great deal of excellent work in order to force the\ndoors to better employment. To imagine that after the country had done\nits duty by providing schools and universities, it would provide\ncrutches for men who ought to learn to walk by themselves, was beyond\nmy comprehension, particularly when I was told how large a sum was\nyearly spent by the colleges in paying these fellowships without\nrequiring any _quid pro quo_.\n\nHaving once come to believe that, and several other to me\nunintelligible things at Oxford, I was ready to believe almost\nanything my friends told me. There are some famous stone images, for\ninstance, round the Theatre and the Ashmolean Museum. They are\nhideous, for the sandstone of which they are made has crumbled away\nagain and again, but even when they were restored, the same brittle\nstone was used. They are in the form of Hermae, and were planned by no\nless an architect than Sir Christopher Wren. When I asked what they\nwere meant for, I was assured quite seriously that they were images of\nformer Heads of Houses. I believed it, though I expressed my surprise\nthat the stone-mason who made new heads, when the old showed hardly\nmore than two eyes and a nose, and a very wide mouth, should carefully\ncopy the crumbling faces, because, as I was informed, he had been told\nto copy the former gentlemen.\n\nIt was certainly a very common amusement of my young undergraduate\nfriends to make fun of the Heads of Houses. They did not seem to feel\nthat shiver of unspeakable awe for them of which Bishop Thorold\nspeaks; nay, they were anything but respectful in speaking of the\nDoctors of Divinity in their red gowns with black velvet sleeves. If\nit is difficult for old men always to understand young men, it is\ncertainly even more difficult for young men to understand old men.\nThere is a very old saying, \u201cYoung men think that old men are fools,\nbut old men know that young men are.\u201d Though very young myself, I came\nto know several of the old Heads of Houses, and though they certainly\nhad their peculiarities, they did by no means all belong to the age of\nthe Dodo. They were enjoying their _otium cum dignitate_, as befits\ngentlemen, scholars, and divines, and they certainly deserved greater\nrespect from the undergraduates than they received.\n\nAt the annual _Encaenia_, a great deal of licence was allowed to the\nyoung men; and I know of several strangers, especially foreigners, who\nhave been scandalized at the riotous behaviour of the undergraduates\nin the Theatre, the Oxford _Aula_, when the Vice-Chancellor stood up\nto address the assembled audience. My first experience of this was\nwith Dr. Plumptre, who, as I have said, was very tall and stately;\nwhen his first words were not quite distinct, the undergraduates\nshouted, \u201cSpeak up, old stick.\u201d When the Warden of Wadham, the Rev.\nDr. Symons, was showing some pretty young ladies to their seats in the\nTheatre, he was threatened by the young men, who yelled at the top of\ntheir voices, \u201cI\u2019ll tell Lydia, you wicked old man.\u201d Now Lydia was his\nmost excellent spouse. At first the remarks of the undergraduates at\nthe _Encaenia_, or rather _Saturnalia_, were mostly good-natured and\nat least witty; but they at last became so rude that distinguished\nmen, whom the University wished to honour by conferring on them\nhonorary degrees, felt deeply offended. Sir Arthur Helps declared that\nhe came to receive an honour, and received an insult. Well do I\nremember the Rev. Dr. Salmon, who was asked where he had left his\nlobster sauce; Dr. Wendell Holmes was shouted at, whether he had come\nacross the Atlantic in his \u201cOne Hoss Shay\u201d; the Right Hon. W. H.\nSmith, First Lord of the Admiralty, was presented with a Pinafore, and\nLord Wolseley with a Black Watch. There was a certain amount of wit in\nthese allusions, and the best way to take the academic row and riot\nwas Tennyson\u2019s, who told me on coming out that \u201che felt all the time\nas if standing on the shingle of the sea shore, the storm howling, and\nthe spray covering him right and left.\u201d After a time, however, these\n_Saturnalia_ had to be stopped, and they were stopped in a curious\nway, by giving ladies seats among the undergraduates. It speaks well\nfor them that their regard for the ladies restrained them, and made\nthem behave like gentlemen.\n\nThe reign of the Heads of Houses, which was in full force when I first\nsettled in Oxford, began to wane when it was least expected. There\nhad, however, been grumblings among the Fellows and Tutors at Oxford,\nwho felt themselves aggrieved by the self-willed interference of the\nHeads of Colleges in their tutorial work, and, it may be, resented the\nairs assumed by men who, after all, were their equals, and in no sense\ntheir betters, in the University.\n\nSociety distinctly profited when Fellows and Tutors were allowed to\nmarry, and when several of the newly-elected of the Heads of Houses,\nhaving wives and daughters, opened their houses, and had interesting\npeople to dine with them from the neighbourhood and from London.\n\nThe Deanery of Christ Church was not only made architecturally into a\nnew house, but under Dr. Liddell, with his charming wife and\ndaughters, became a social centre not easily rivalled anywhere else.\nThere one met not only royalty, the young Prince of Wales, but many\neminent writers, artists, and political men from London, Gladstone,\nDisraeli, Richmond, Ruskin, and many others. Another bright house of\nthe new era was that of the Principal of Brasenose, Dr. Cradock, and\nhis cheerful and most amusing wife. There one often met such men as\nLord Russell, Sir George C. Lewis, young Harcourt, and many more. She\nwas the true Dresden china marquise, with her amusing sallies, which\nno doubt often gave offence to grave Heads of Houses and sedate\nProfessors. No one knew her age, she was so young; and yet she had\nbeen maid of honour to some Queen, as I told her once, to Queen Anne.\nHaving been maid of honour, she never concealed her own peculiar\nfeelings about people who had not been presented. When she wanted to\nbe left alone, she would look out of window, and tell visitors who\ncame to call, \u201cVery sorry, but I am not at home to-day.\u201d Queen\u2019s\nCollege also, under Dr. Thomson, the future Archbishop of York, was a\nmost hospitable house. Mrs. Thomson presided over it with her peculiar\ngrace and genuine kindness, and many a pleasant evening I spent there\nwith musical performances. But here, too, the old leaven of Oxford\nburst forth sometimes. Of course, we generally performed the music of\nHandel and other classical authors; Mendelssohn\u2019s compositions were\nstill considered as mere twaddle by some of the old school. At one of\nthese evenings, the old organist of New College, with his wooden leg,\nafter sitting through a rehearsal of Mendelssohn\u2019s _Hymn of Praise_,\nwhich I was conducting at the pianoforte, walked up to me, as I\nthought, to thank me; but no, he burst out in a torrent of real and\nsomewhat coarse abuse of me, for venturing to introduce such flimsy\nmusic at Oxford. I did not feel very guilty, and fortunately I\nremained silent, whether from actual bewilderment or from a better\ncause, I can hardly tell.\n\n  [Illustration: _F. Max M\u00fcller Aged 30._]\n\nLong before Commissions came down on Oxford a new life seemed to be\nspringing up there, and what was formerly the exception became more\nand more the rule among the young Fellows and Tutors. They saw what a\nsplendid opportunity was theirs, having the very flower of England\nto educate, having the future of English society to form. They\ncertainly made the best of it, helped, I believe, by the so-called\nOxford Movement, which, whatever came of it afterwards, was certainly\nin the beginning thoroughly genuine and conscientious. The Tutors saw\na good deal of the young men confided to their care, and the result\nwas that even what was called the \u201cfast set\u201d thought it a fine thing\nto take a good class. I could mention a number of young noblemen and\nwealthy undergraduates who, in my early years, read for a first class\nand took it; and my experience has certainly been that those who took\na first class came out in later life as eminent and useful members of\nsociety. Not that eminence in political, clerical, literary, and\nscientific life was restricted to first classes, far from it. But\nfirst-class men rarely failed to appear again on the surface in later\nlife. It may be true that a first class did not always mean a\nfirst-class man, but it always seemed to mean a man who had learned\nhow to work honestly, whether he became Prime Minister or Archbishop,\nor spent his days in one of the public offices, or even in a\ncounting-house or newspaper office.\n\nI felt it was an excellent mixture if a young man, after taking a good\ndegree at Oxford, spent a year or two at a German University. He\ngenerally came back with fresh ideas, knew what kind of work still had\nto be done in the different branches of study, and did it with a\nperseverance that soon produced most excellent results. Of course\nthere was always the difficulty that young men wished to make their\nway in life, that is to make a living. The Church, the bar, and the\nhospital, absorbed many of those who in Germany would have looked\nforward to a University career. In my own subject more particularly,\nmy very best pupils did not see their way to gaining even an\nindependence, unless they gave their time to first securing a curacy,\nor a mastership at school; and they usually found that, in order to do\ntheir work conscientiously, they had to give up their favourite\nstudies in which they would certainly have done excellent work, if\nthere had been no _dira necessitas_. I often tried to persuade my\nfriends at Oxford to make the fellowships really useful by\nconcentrating them and giving studious men a chance of devoting\nthemselves at the University to non-lucrative studies. But the feeling\nof the majority was always against what was called derisively Original\nResearch, and the fellowship-funds continued to be frittered away,\npayment by results being considered a totally mistaken principle, so\nthat often, as in the case of the new septennial fellowships, there\nremained the payment only, but no results.\n\nStill all this became clear to me at a much later time only. My first\nyears at Oxford were spent in a perfect bewilderment of joy and\nadmiration. No one can see that University for the first time,\nparticularly in spring or autumn, without being enchanted with it. To\nme it seemed a perfect paradise, and I could have wished for myself no\nbetter lot than that which the kindness of my friends later secured\nfor me there.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nEARLY FRIENDS AT OXFORD\n\n\nI was still very young when I came to settle at Oxford, only\ntwenty-four in fact; and, though occasionally honoured by invitations\nfrom Heads of Houses and Professors, I naturally lived chiefly with\nundergraduates and junior Fellows, such as Grant, Sellar, Palgrave,\nMorier, and others. Grant, afterwards Sir Alexander Grant and\nPrincipal of the University of Edinburgh, was a delightful companion.\nHe had always something new in his mind, and discussed with many\nflashes of wit and satire. He possessed an aristocratic contempt for\nanything commonplace, or self-evident, so that one had to be careful\nin conversing with him. But he was generous, and his laugh reconciled\none to some of his sharp sallies. How little one anticipates the\nfuture greatness of one\u2019s friends. They all seem to us no better than\nourselves, when suddenly they emerge. Grant had shown what he could do\nby his edition of Aristotle\u2019s _Ethics_. He became one of the\nProfessors at the new University at Bombay and contributed much to the\nfirst starting of that University, so warmly patronized by Sir Charles\nTrevelyan. On returning to this country he was chosen to fill the\ndistinguished place of Principal of the Edinburgh University. More was\nexpected of him when he enjoyed this _otium cum dignitate_, but his\nhealth seemed to have suffered in the enervating climate of India,\nand, though he enjoyed his return to his friends most fully and\nspending his life as a friend among friends, he died comparatively\nyoung, and perhaps without fulfilling all the hopes that were\nentertained of him. But he was a thoroughly genial man, and his\nhandshake and the twinkle of his eye when meeting an old friend will\nnot easily be forgotten.\n\nSellar was another Scotchman whom I knew as an undergraduate at\nBalliol. When I first came to know him he was full of anxieties about\nhis health, and greatly occupied with the usual doubts about religion,\nparticularly the presence of evil or of anything imperfect in this\nworld. He was an honest fellow, warmly attached to his friends; and no\none could wish to have a better friend to stand up for him on all\noccasions and against all odds. He afterwards became happily married\nand a useful Professor of Latin at Edinburgh. I stayed with him later\nin life in Scotland and found him always the same, really enjoying his\nfriends\u2019 society and a talk over old days. He had begun to ail when I\nsaw him last, but the old boy was always there, even when he was\nmiserable about his chiefly imaginary miseries. Soon after I had left\nhim I received his last message and farewell from his deathbed. We\nare told that all this is very natural and what we must be prepared\nfor\u2014but what cold gaps it leaves. My thoughts often return to him, as\nif he were still among the living, and then one feels one\u2019s own\nloneliness and friendlessness again and again.\n\nPalgrave roused great expectations among undergraduates at Oxford, but\nhe kept us waiting for some time. He took early to office life in the\nEducational Department, and this seems to have ground him down and\nunfitted him for other work. He had a wonderful gift of admiring, his\ngreat hero being Tennyson, and he was more than disappointed if others\ndid not join in his unqualified panegyrics of the great poet. At last,\nsomewhat late in life, he was elected Professor of Poetry at Oxford,\nand gave some most learned and instructive lectures. His knowledge of\nEnglish Literature, particularly poetry, was quite astounding. I\ncertainly never went to him to ask him a question that he did not\nanswer at once and with exhaustive fullness. Some of his friends\ncomplained of his great command of language, and even Tennyson, I am\ntold, found it sometimes too much. All I can say is that to me it was\na pleasure to listen to him. I owe him particular thanks for having,\nin the kindest manner, revised my first English compositions. He was\nalways ready and indefatigable, and I certainly owed a good deal to\nhis corrections and his unstinted advice. His _Golden Treasury_ has\nbecome a national possession, and certainly speaks well both for his\nextensive knowledge and for his good taste.\n\nLastly there was Morier, of whom certainly no one expected when he was\nat Balliol that he would rise to be British Ambassador at St.\nPetersburg. His early education had been somewhat neglected, but when\nhe came to Balliol he worked hard to pass a creditable examination. He\nwas a giant in size, very good-looking, and his manners, when he\nliked, most charming and attractive. Being the son of a diplomatist\nthere was something both English and foreign in his manner, and he\ncertainly was a general favourite at Oxford. His great desire was to\nenter the diplomatic service, but when that was impossible, he found\nemployment for a time in the Education Office. But society in London\nwas too much for him, he was made for society, and society was\ndelighted to receive him. But it was difficult for him at the same\ntime to fulfil his duties at the Education Office, and the result was\nthat he had to give up his place. Things began to look serious, when\nfortunately Lord Aberdeen, a great friend of his father, found him\nsome diplomatic employment; and that once found, Morier was in his\nelement. He was often almost reckless; but while several of his\nfriends came altogether to grief, he managed always to fall on his\nfeet and keep afloat while others went down. As an undergraduate he\ncame to me to read Greek with me, and I confess that with such\nmistakes in his Greek papers as \u03bf\u1f31 \u03c0\u1f01\u03b8\u03bf\u03b9 instead of \u03c4\u1f00 \u03c0\u1f01\u03b8\u03b7, I\ntrembled for his examinations. However, he did well in the schools,\nknowing how to hide his weak points and how to make the best of his\nstrong ones. I travelled with him in Germany, and when the\nSchleswig-Holstein question arose, he wrote a pamphlet which certainly\nmight have cost him his diplomatic career. He asked me to allow it to\nbe understood that the pamphlet, which did full justice to the claims\nof Holstein and of Germany, had been written by me. I received many\ncompliments, which I tried to parry as well as I could. Fortunately\nLord John Russell stood by Morier, and his prophecies did certainly\nturn out true. \u201cDon\u2019t let the Germans awake from their slumbers and\nfind a work ready made for them on which they all agree.\u201d But the\nsignatories of the treaty of London did the very thing against which\nMorier had raised his warning voice, as the friend of Germany as it\nwas, though perhaps not of the Germany that was to be. Schleswig-Holstein\n_meer-umschlungen_ became the match, (the Schwefel-h\u00f6lzchen), that was\nto light the fire of German unity, a unity which for a time may not\nhave been exactly what England could have wished for, but which in the\nfuture will become, we hope, the safety of Europe and the support of\nEngland.\n\nMorier\u2019s later advance in his diplomatic career was certainly most\nsuccessful. He possessed the very important art of gaining the\nconfidence of the crowned heads and ministers he had to deal with.\nBismarck, it is true, could not bear him, and tried several times to\ntrip him up. Even while Morier was at Berlin, as a Secretary of\nLegation, Bismarck asked for his removal, but Lord Granville simply\ndeclined to remove a young diplomatist who gave him information on all\nparties in Germany, and to do so had to mix with people whom Bismarck\ndid not approve of. Besides, Morier was always a _persona grata_ with\nthe Crown Prince and the Crown Princess, and that was enough to make\nBismarck dislike him. Later in life Bismarck accused him of having\nconveyed private information of the military position of the Germans\nto the French Guards, such information being derived from the English\nCourt. The charge was ridiculous. Morier was throughout the war a\nsympathizer with Germany as against France. The English Court had no\nmilitary information to convey or to communicate to Morier, and Morier\nwas too much of a diplomatist and a gentleman, if by accident he had\npossessed any such information, to betray such a secret to an enemy in\nthe field. Bismarck was completely routed, though his son seemed\ninclined to fasten a duel on the English diplomatist. Morier rose\nhigher and higher, and at last became Ambassador at St. Petersburg.\nWhen I laughed and congratulated him he said, \u201cHe must be a great fool\nwho does not reach the top of the diplomatic tree.\u201d That was too much\nmodesty, and yet modesty was not exactly his fault; but he agreed\nwith me as to _quam parva sapientia regitur mundus_.\n\nNothing could seem more prosperous than my friend Morier\u2019s career; but\nfew people knew how utterly miserable he really was. He had one son,\nin many respects the very image of his father, a giant in stature,\nvery handsome, and most attractive. In spite of all we said to him he\nwould not send his son to a public school in England, but kept him\nwith him at the different embassies, where his only companions were\nthe young attach\u00e9s and secretaries. He had a private tutor, and when\nthat tutor declared that young Morier was fit for the University, his\nfather managed to get him into Balliol, recommending him to the\nspecial care of the Master. He actually lived in the Master\u2019s house\nfor a time, but enjoyed the greatest liberty that an undergraduate at\nOxford may enjoy. His father was wrapped up in his boy, but at the\nsame time tried to frighten him into hard work, or at least into\ngetting through the examinations. All was in vain; young Morier was so\nnervous that he could never pass an examination. What might be\nexpected followed, and the father had at last to remove him to begin\nwork as an honorary attach\u00e9 at his own embassy. I liked the young man\nvery much, but my own impression is that his nervousness quite\nunfitted him for serious work. The end was beyond description sad. He\nwent to South Africa in the police force, distinguished himself very\nmuch, came back to England, and then on his second voyage to the Cape\ndied suddenly on board the steamer. I have seldom seen such utter\nmisery as his father\u2019s. He loved his son and the son loved his father\npassionately, but the father expected more than it was physically and\nmentally possible for the son to do. Hence arose misunderstandings,\nand yet beneath the surface there was this passionate love, like the\nlove of lovers. When I saw my old friend last, he cried and sobbed\nlike a child: his heart was really broken. He went on for a few years\nmore, suffering much from ill health, but really killed at last by his\nutter misery. I knew him in the bright morning of his life, at the\nmeridian of his great success, and last in the dark night when light\nand life seems gone, when the moon and all the stars are extinguished,\nand nothing remains but patient suffering and the hope of a brighter\nmorn to come.\n\nHow little one dreamt of all this when we were young, and when an\nambassador, nay, even a professor, seemed to us far beyond the reach\nof our ambition. I could go on mentioning many more names of men with\nwhom I lived at Oxford in the most delightful intimacy, and who\nafterwards turned up as bishops, archbishops, judges, ministers, and\nall the rest. True, it is quite natural that it should be so with a\nman who, as I did, began his English life almost as an undergraduate\namong undergraduates. Nearly all Englishmen who receive a liberal\neducation must pass either through Oxford or through Cambridge, and I\nwas no doubt lucky in making thus early the acquaintance of a number\nof men who later in life became deservedly eminent. The only drawback\nwas that, knowing my friends very intimately, I did not perhaps later\npreserve on all occasions that deference which the dignity of an\nambassador or of an archbishop has a right to demand.\n\nThomson was a dear friend of mine when he was still a fellow of\nQueen\u2019s College. We worked together, as may be seen by my\ncontributions to his _Laws of Thought_, and the translation of a Vedic\nhymn which he helped me to make. I think he had a kind of anticipation\nof what was in store for him. Though for a time he had to be\nsatisfied, even when he was married, with a very small London living,\nhe soon rose in the Church, at a time when clergymen of a liberal way\nof thinking had not much chance of Crown preferment. But having gone\nat the head of a deputation to Lord Palmerston, to inform him that\nGladstone\u2019s next election as member for Oxford was becoming doubtful,\nowing to all the bishoprics being given to the Low Church party\u2014the\nparty of Lord Shaftesbury\u2014Palmerston remembered his stately and\ncourteous bearing, and when the see of Gloucester fell vacant, gave\nhim that bishopric to silence Gladstone\u2019s supporters. This was a very\nunexpected preferment at Oxford, but Thomson made such good use of his\nopportunity that, when the Archbishopric of York became vacant, and\nPalmerston found it difficult to make his own or Lord Shaftesbury\u2019s\nnominee acceptable to the Queen, he suggested that any one of the\nlately elected bishops approved of by the Crown might go to York, and\nsome one else fill the see thus vacated. It so happened that Thomson\u2019s\nname was the first to be mentioned, and he was made Archbishop,\nprobably one of the youngest Archbishops England has ever known. He\ncertainly fulfilled all expectations and proved himself the people\u2019s\nArchbishop, for he was himself the son of a small tradesman, a fact of\nwhich he was never ashamed, though his enemies did not fail to cast it\nin his teeth. I confess I felt at first a little awkward with my old\nfriend who formerly had discussed every possible religious and\nphilosophical problem quite freely with me, and was now His Grace the\nLord Archbishop, with a palace to inhabit and an income of about\n\u00a310,000 a year. However, though as a German and as a friend of Bunsen\nI was looked upon as a kind of heretic, I never made the Archbishop\nblush for his old friend, and I always found him the same to the end\nof his life, kind, courteous, and ready to help, though it is but fair\nto remember that an Archbishop of York is one of the first subjects of\nthe Queen, and cannot do or say everything that he might like to do or\nto say. When I had to ask him to do something for a friend of mine,\nwho as a clergyman had given great offence by his very liberal\nopinions, he did all he could do, though he might have incurred great\nobloquy by so doing.\n\nBut when I think of these men, friends and acquaintances of mine, whom\nI remember as young men, very able and hard working no doubt, yet not\nso entirely different from others who through life remained unknown,\nit is as if I had slept through a number of years and dreamt, and had\nthen suddenly awoke to a new life. Some of my friends, I am glad to\nsay, I always found the same, whether in ermine or in lawn sleeves;\nothers, however, I am sorry to say, had _become_ something, the old\nboy in them had vanished, and nothing was to be seen except the\nbishop, the judge, or the minister.\n\nIt was not for me to remind them of their former self, and to make\nthem doubt their own identity, but I often felt the truth of Matthew\nArnold\u2019s speeches, who, in social position, never rose beyond that of\ninspector of schools, and who often laughed when at great dinners he\nfound himself surrounded by their Graces, their Excellencies, and my\nLords, recognizing faces that sat below him at school and whose names\nin the class lists did not occupy so high a place as his own. Not that\nMatthew Arnold was dissatisfied; he knew his worth, but, as he himself\nasked for nothing, it is strange that his friends should never have\nasked for something for him, which would have shown to the world at\nlarge that he had not been left behind in the race. It strikes one\nthat while he was at Oxford, few people only detected in Arnold the\npoet or the man of remarkable genius. I had many letters from him, but\nI never kept them, and I often blame myself now that in his, as in\nother cases, I should have thrown away letters as of no importance.\nThen suddenly came the time when he returned to Oxford as the poet, as\nthe Professor of poetry, nay, afterwards as the philosopher also,\nplaced high by public opinion among the living worthies of England.\nWhat was sometimes against him was his want of seriousness. A laugh\nfrom his hearers or readers seemed to be more valued by him than their\nserious opposition, or their convinced assent. He trusted, like\nothers, to _persiflage_, and the result was that when he tried to be\nserious, people could not forget that he might at any time turn round\nand smile, and decline to be taken _au grand s\u00e9rieux_. People do not\nknow what a dangerous game this French _persiflage_ is, particularly\nin England, and how difficult it becomes to exchange it afterwards for\nreal seriousness.\n\nThose early Oxford days were bright days for me, and now, when those\nyoung and old faces, whether undergraduates or archbishops, rise up\nagain before me, I being almost the only one left of that happy\ncompany, I ask again, \u201cDid they also belong to a mere dreamland, they\nwho gave life to my life, and made England my real home?\u201d When I first\nsaw them at Oxford, I was really an undergraduate, though I had taken\nmy Doctor\u2019s degree at Leipzig. I lived, in fact, my happy university\nlife over again, and it would be difficult to say which academical\nyears I enjoyed more, those at Leipzig and Berlin, or those at Oxford.\nThere were intermediate years in Paris, but during my stay there I saw\nbut little of students and student life. I was too much oppressed with\ncares and anxieties about my present and future to think much of\nsociety and enjoyment. At Oxford, these cares had become far less, and\nI could by hard work earn as much money as I wanted, and cared to\nspend. In Paris, I was already something of a scholar and writer; at\nOxford I became once more the undergraduate.\n\nThis young society into which I was received was certainly most\nattractive, though that it contained the germs of future greatness\nnever struck me at the time. What struck me was the general tone of\nthe conversation. Of course, as Lord Palmerston said of himself when\nhe was no longer very young, \u201cboys will be boys,\u201d but there never was\nanything rude or vulgar in their conversation, and I hardly ever heard\nan offensive remark among them. Most of my friends came from Balliol,\nand were serious-minded men, many of them occupied and troubled by\nreligious, philosophical, and social problems.\n\nWhat puzzled me most was the entire absence of duels. Occasionally\nthere were squabbles and high words, which among German students could\nhave had one result only\u2014a duel. But at Oxford, either a man\napologized at once or the next morning, and the matter was forgotten,\nor, if a man proved himself a cad or a snob, he was simply dropped. I\ndo not mean to condemn the students\u2019 duels in Germany altogether.\nConsidering how mixed the society of German universities is, and the\nperfect equality that reigns among them\u2014they all called each other\n\u201cthou\u201d in my time\u2014the son of a gentleman required some kind of\nprotection against the son of a butcher or of a day-labourer. Boxing\nand fisticuffs were entirely forbidden among students, so that there\nremained nothing to a young student who wanted to escape from the\ninsults of a young ruffian, but to call him out. As soon as a\nchallenge was given, all abuse ceased at once, and such was the power\nof public opinion at the universities that not another word of insult\nwould be uttered. In this way much mischief is prevented. Besides,\nevery precaution is taken to guard against fatal accident, and I\nbelieve there are fewer serious accidents on the _mensura_ than in the\nhunting-field in England. When I was at Leipzig, where we had at least\nfour hundred duels during the year, only two fatal accidents happened,\nand they were, indeed, accidents, such as will happen even at\nfootball. Of course duels can never be defended, but for keeping up\ngood manners, also for bringing out a man\u2019s character, these academic\nduels seem useful. However small the danger is, it frightens the\ncoward and restrains the poltroon. For all that, what has taken place\nin England may in time take place in Germany also, and men will cease\nto think that it is impossible to defend their honour without a piece\nof steel or a pistol. The last thing that a German student desires to\ndo in a duel is to kill his adversary. Hence pistol duels, which are\ngenerally preferred by theological students, because they cannot\neasily get a living if their face is scarred all over, are generally\nthe most harmless, except perhaps for the seconds.\n\nBefore closing this chapter, I should like to say a few words on the\nimpressions which the theological atmosphere of Oxford in 1848\nproduced on me, and which even now fills me with wonder and amazement.\n\nWhen I came to Oxford, I was strongly recommended to Stanley on one\nside, and to Manuel Johnson on the other,\u2014a curious mixture. Johnson,\nthe Observer, was extremely kind and hospitable to me. He was a genial\nman, full of love, possibly a little weak, but thoroughly honest, nay,\ntransparently so. I met at his house nearly all the leaders of the\nHigh Church movement, though I never met Newman himself, who had then\nalready gone to reside at his retreat at Littlemore. On the other\nhand, Stanley received me with open arms as a friend of Bunsen,\nFrederick Maurice, and Julius Hare, and as I came straight from the\nFebruary revolution in 1848, he was full of interest and curiosity to\nknow from me what I had seen in Paris.\n\nAt first I knew nothing, and understood nothing of the movement, call\nit ecclesiastical or theological, that was going on at Oxford at that\ntime. I dined almost every Sunday at Johnson\u2019s house, and at his\ndinners and Sunday afternoon garden parties I met men such as Church,\nMozley, Buckle, Palgrave, Pollen, Rigaud, Burgon, and Chr\u00e9tian, who\ninspired me with great respect, both for their learning and for what I\ncould catch of their character. Stanley, on the other hand, Froude,\nand Jowett, proved themselves true friends to me in making me feel at\nhome, and initiating me into the secrets of the place. There was,\nhowever, a curious reticence on both sides, and it was by sudden\nglimpses only that I came to understand that these two sets were quite\ndivided, nay, opposed, and had very different ideals before them.\n\nI had been at a German university, and the historical study of\nChristianity was to me as familiar as the study of Roman history.\nProfessors whom I had looked up to as great authorities, implicitly to\nbe trusted, such as Lotze and Weisse at Leipzig, Schelling and\nMichelet at Berlin, had, after causing in me a certain surprise at\nfirst, left me with the firm conviction that the Old and New Testament\nwere historical books, and to be treated according to the same\ncritical principles as any other ancient book, particularly the sacred\nbooks of the East of which so little was then known, and of which I\ntoo knew very little as yet; enough, however, to see that they\ncontained nothing but what under the circumstances they could\ncontain, traditions of extreme antiquity collected by men who gathered\nall they thought would be useful for the education of the people.\nAnything like revelation in the old sense of the word, a belief that\nthese books had been verbally communicated by the Deity, or that what\nseemed miraculous in them was to be accepted as historically real,\nsimply because it was recorded in these sacred books, was to me a\nstandpoint long left behind. To me the questions that occupied my\nthoughts were to what date these books, such as we have them, could be\nassigned, what portions of them were of importance to us, what were\nthe simple truths they contained, and what had been added to them by\nlater collectors. Well do I remember when, before going to Oxford, I\nspoke to Bunsen of the preface to my Rig-veda, and used the\nexpression, \u201cthe great revelations of the world,\u201d he, perfectly\nunderstanding what I meant, warned me in his loud and warm voice,\n\u201cDon\u2019t say that at Oxford.\u201d I could see no harm, nor Bunsen either,\nnor his son who was an Oxford man and a clergyman of the Church of\nEngland; but I was told that I should be misunderstood. I knew far too\nlittle to imagine that I had a right to speak of what was fermenting\nand growing within me. During my stay at Leipzig and Berlin, and\nafterwards in my intercourse with Renan and Burnouf, the principles of\nthe historical school had become quite familiar to me, but the\napplication of these principles to the early history of religion was\na different matter. How far the Old and the New Testament would stand\nthe critical tests enunciated by Niebuhr was a frequent subject of\ncontroversy, during the time I spent at Paris, between young Renan and\nmyself. Though I did not go with him in his reconstruction of the\nhistory of the Jews and the Jewish religion, and of the early\nChristians and the Christian religion, I agreed with him in principle,\nobjecting only to his too free and too idyllic reconstruction of these\ngreat religious movements. Besides, before all things, I was at that\ntime given to philosophical studies, chiefly to an inquiry into the\nlimits of our knowledge in the Kantian sense of the word, the origin\nof thought and language, the first faltering and half-mythological\nsteps of language in the search for causes or divine agents. All this\noccupied me far more than the age of the Fourth Gospel and its\nposition by the side of the Synoptic Gospels. I had talked with\nSchelling and Schopenhauer, and little as I appreciated or understood\nall their teachings, there were certain aspirations left in my mind\nwhich led me far away beyond the historical foundations of\nChristianity. What can we know? was the question which I often opposed\nto Renan at the very beginning of our conversations and controversies.\nThat there were great truths in the teaching and preaching of Christ,\nRenan was always ready to admit, but while it interested me how the\ntruths proclaimed by Christ could have sprung up in His mind and at\nthat time in the history of the human race, Renan\u2019s eyes were always\ndirected to the evidence, and to what we could still know of the early\nhistory of Christianity and its Founder. I could not deny that,\nhistorically speaking, we knew very little of the life, the work, and\nthe teachings of Christ; but for that very reason I doubted our being\njustified in giving our interpretation and reconstruction to the\nfragments left to us of the real history of the life and teaching of\nChrist. To this opinion I remained true through life. I claimed for\neach man the liberty of believing in his own Christ, but I objected to\nRenan\u2019s idyllic Christ as I objected to Niebuhr\u2019s filling the canvas\nof ancient Roman history with the figures of his own imagination.\n\nNaturally, when I came to Oxford, I thought these things were familiar\nto all, however much they might admit of careful correction. Nor have\nI any doubt that to some of my friends who were great theologians,\nthey were better known than to a young Oriental scholar like myself.\nBut unless engaged in conversation on these subjects, and this was\nchiefly the case with my friends of the Stanley party, I did not feel\ncalled upon to preach what, as I thought, every serious student knew\nquite as well and probably much better than myself, though he might\nfor some reason or other prefer to keep silence thereon.\n\nWhat was my surprise when I found that most of these excellent and\nreally learned men were much more deeply interested in purely\necclesiastical questions, in the validity of Anglican orders, in the\nwearing of either gowns or surplices in the pulpit, in the question of\ncandlesticks and genuflections. \u201cWhat has all this to do with true\nreligion?\u201d I once said to dear Johnson. He laughed with his genial\nlaugh, and blowing the smoke of his cigar away, said, \u201cOh, you don\u2019t\nunderstand!\u201d But I did understand, and a great deal more than he\nexpected. Truly religious men, I thought, might please themselves with\nincense and candlesticks, provided they gave no offence to their\nneighbours. It seemed to me quite natural also that men like Johnson,\nwith a taste for art, should prefer the Roman ritual to the simple and\nsometimes rather bare service of the Anglican Church, but that things\nsuch as incense and censers, surplice and gown, should be taken as\nthey are, as paraphernalia, the work of human beings, the outcome of\npersonal and local influences, as church-service, no doubt, but not as\nservice of God. God has to be served by very different things, and\nthere is the danger of the formal prevailing over the essential, the\ndanger of idolatry of symbols as realities, whenever too much\nimportance is attributed to the external forms of worship and divine\nservice.\n\nThe validity of Anglican orders was often discussed at the\nObservatory, and I no doubt gave great offence by openly declaring in\nmy imperfect English that I considered Luther a better channel for\nthe transmission of the Holy Ghost than a Caesar Borgia or even a\nWolsey. Anyhow I could not bring myself to see the importance of such\nquestions, if only the heart was right and if the whole of our life\nwas in fact a real and constant life with God and in God. That is what\nI called a truly religious and truly Christian life. What struck me\nparticularly, both on the Newman side, and among those whom I met at\nJowett\u2019s and Froude\u2019s, was a curious want of openness and manliness in\ndiscussing these simple questions, simple, if not complicated by\necclesiastical theories. When Newman at Iffley was spoken of, it was\nin hushed tones, and when rumours of his going over to Rome reached\nhis friends at Oxford, their consternation seemed to be like that of\npeople watching the deathbed of a friend. I am sorry I saw nothing of\nNewman at that time; when I sat with him afterwards in his study at\nBirmingham, he was evidently tired of controversy, and unwilling to\nreopen questions which to him were settled once for all, or if not\nsettled, at all events closed and relinquished. I could never form a\nclear idea of the man, much as I admired his sermons; his brother and\nhis own friends gave such different accounts of him. That even at\nLittlemore he was still faithful to his own national Church, anxious\nonly to bring it nearer to its ancient possibly Roman type, can hardly\nbe doubted. When he wrote from Littlemore to his friend De Lisle, he\nhad no reason to economize the truth. De Lisle hoped that Newman would\nsoon openly join the Church of Rome, but Newman answered: \u201cYou must\nallow me to be honest with you in adding one thing. A distressing\nfeeling arises in my mind that such marks of kindness as these on your\npart are caused by a belief that I am ever likely to join your\ncommunion ... I must assure you then with great sincerity that I have\nnot the shadow of an internal movement known to myself towards such a\nstep. While God is with me where I am, I will not seek Him elsewhere.\nI might almost say in the words of Scripture, \u2018We have found the\nMessias!\u2019...\u201d\n\nHow true this is, and yet the same Newman went over to the unreformed\nChurch, because the Archbishop of Canterbury had sanctioned Bunsen\u2019s\nproposal of an Anglo-German bishopric of Jerusalem, quite forgetful of\nthe fact that Synesius also had been bishop of Ptolemais. Again I say,\nWhat have such matters to do with true religion, such as we read of in\nthe New Testament, as an ideal to be realized in our life on earth?\nAnd it so happened that at the same time I knew of families rendered\nmiserable through Newman\u2019s influence, of young girls, daughters of\nnarrow-minded Anglicans, hurried over to Rome, of young men at Oxford\nwith their troubled consciences which under Newman\u2019s direct or\nindirect guidance could end only in Rome. Newman\u2019s influence must have\nbeen extraordinary; the tone in which people who wished to free\nthemselves from him, who had actually left him, spoke of him, seemed\ntremulous with awe. I would give anything to have known him at that\ntime, when I knew him through his disciples only. They were caught in\nvarious ways. I know of one, a brilliant writer, who had been\nentrusted by Newman with writing some of the _Lives of the Saints_. He\ndid it with great industry, but in the course of his researches he\narrived at the conviction that there was hardly anything truly\nhistorical about his Saints and that the miracles ascribed to them\nwere insipid, and might be the inventions of their friends; such\nlegends, he felt, would take no root on English soil, at all events\nnot in the present generation. In consequence he informed Newman that\nhe could not keep his promise, or that, if he did so, he must speak\nthe truth, tell people what they might believe about these Saints, and\nwhat was purely fanciful in the accounts of their lives. And what was\nNewman\u2019s answer? He did not respect the young man\u2019s scruples, but\nencouraged him to go on, because, as he said, people would never\nbelieve more than half of these Lives, and that therefore some of\nthese unsupported legends also might prove useful, if only as a kind\nof ballast.\n\n\u201cI rejoice to hear of your success,\u201d he writes, August 21, 1843. \u201cAs\nto St. Grimball, of course we must expect such deficiencies; where\nmatter is found, it is all gain, and there are plenty of Lives to put\ntogether, as you will see, when you see the whole list.\n\n\u201cI am rather for _inserting_ (of course discreetly and in way of\nselection) the miracles for which you have not good evidence. (1) They\nare beautiful, you say, and will tell in the narrative. (2) Next you\ncan say that the evidence is weak, and this will be bringing credit\nfor the others where you say the evidence is strong. People will never\ngo _so far_ as your narrative. Cut it down to what is true, and they\nwill disbelieve a part of _it_; put in these legends and they will\ncompound for the true at the sacrifice of what may be true, but is not\nwell attested.\u201d\n\nI confess I cannot quite follow. If a man like Newman believed in\nthese saints and their miracles, his pleading would become\nintelligible, but it seems from this very letter that he did not, and\nyet he tried to persuade his young friend to go on and not to gather\nthe tares, \u201clest haply he might root up the wheat with them. Let both\ngrow together until the harvest.\u201d I do not like to judge, but I doubt\nwhether this kind of teaching could have strengthened the healthy\nmoral fibre of a man\u2019s conscience and have led him to depend entirely\non his sense of truth. And yet this was the man who at one time was\nsupposed to draw the best spirits of Oxford with him to Rome. This was\nthe man to whom some of the best spirits at Oxford confessed all they\nhad to confess, and that could have been very little, and of whom\nthey spoke with a subdued whisper as the apostle who would restore all\nfaith, and bring back the Anglican sheep to the Roman fold.\n\nI saw and heard all that was going on, the hopes deferred, the secret\nvisits to Littlemore, the rumours and more than rumours of Newman\u2019s\ndefection. Such was the devotion of some of these disciples that they\nexpected day by day a great catastrophe or a great victory, for after\nthe publication of so many letters written at the time by Wiseman,\nManning, De Lisle, and others, there can be little doubt that a great\nconversion or perversion of England to the Romish Church was fully\nexpected. De Lisle writes: \u201cEngland is now in full career of a great\nReligious Revolution, this time back to Catholicism and to the Roman\nSee as its true centre ... the best friends of Rome in the Anglican\nChurch are obliged still to be guarded.\u201d Such words admit of one\nmeaning only, and if Newman had been followed by a large number of his\nOxford friends, the results for England might really have been most\nterrible. But here, no doubt, the English national feeling came in.\nWhat England had suffered under Roman ecclesiastical rule had not yet\nbeen entirely forgotten, and the idea that a foreign potentate and a\nforeign priesthood should interfere with the highest interests of the\nnation, was fortunately as distasteful as ever, not only to a large\nparty of the clergy, but to a still larger party of the laity also.\nIt seemed to me very curious that so many of Newman\u2019s followers did\nnot see the unpatriotic character of their agitation. Either\nsubjection to Rome or civil war at home was the inevitable outcome of\nwhat they discussed very innocently at the Observatory, and little as\nI understood their schemes for the future, I often felt surprised at\nwhat sounded to me like very unpatriotic utterances.\n\nAnother thing that struck me as utterly un-English and has often been\ndwelt on by the historians of this movement, was the curiously secret\ncharacter of the agitation. What has an Englishman to fear when he\nopenly protests against what he disapproves of in Church or State? But\nNewman\u2019s friends at Oxford behaved really, as has been often said,\nlike so many naughty schoolboys, or like conspirators, yet they were\nneither. A very similar charge, however, was brought against the\nliberal party. They also seemed to think that they were out of bounds,\nand were doing in secret what they did not dare to do openly. It is\nwell known that one friend of Newman\u2019s, who afterwards became a Roman\nCatholic, had a small chapel set up in his bedroom in college, with\npictures and candles and instruments of flagellation. No one was\nallowed to see this room, till one evening when the flagellant had\nretired after dinner and fallen asleep, the servants found him lying\nbefore the altar. Nothing remained to him then but to exchange his\ncomfortable college rooms for the less comfortable cell of a Roman\nmonastery, and little was done by his new friends to make the evening\nof his life serene and free from anxiety. These things were known and\ntalked about in Oxford, and generally with anything but the\nseriousness that the subject seemed to me to require. Again at the\nObservatory a point was made of having games in the garden such as\nboccia on a Sunday afternoon, thus evading the strict observance of\nthe Sabbath, without openly trying to restore to it the character\nwhich it had in Roman Catholic countries.\n\nGerman theology was talked about as a kind of forbidden fruit, as if\nit was not right for them to look at it, to taste it, or to examine\nit. Even years later people were afraid to meet Professor Ewald,\nBishop Colenso, and other so-called heretics at my house. They even\nfell on poor Ewald at an evening party. Ewald was staying with me and\nworking hard at some Hebrew MSS. at the Bodleian. He was then already\nan old man, but in his appearance a powerful and venerable champion.\nHe is the only man I remember who, after copying Hebrew MSS. for\ntwelve hours at the Bodleian with nothing but a sandwich to sustain\nhim, complained of the short time allowed there for work. He came home\nfor dinner very tired, and when the conversation or rather the\ndisputation began between him and some of our young liberal\ntheologians, he spoke in short pithy sentences only. He considered\nhimself perfectly orthodox, nay, one of the pillars of religion in\nGermany, and laid down the law with unhesitating conviction. As far as\nI can remember, he was answering a number of questions about St. Paul,\nand what he thought of Christ, of the Kingdom of Christ, and the Life\nto come, and being pestered and driven into a corner by his various\nquestioners, and asked at last how he knew St. Paul\u2019s secret thoughts,\nhe not knowing how to express himself in fluent English, exclaimed in\na loud voice, \u201cI know it by the Holy Ghost.\u201d Here the conversation\nnaturally stopped, and poor Ewald was allowed to finish his dinner in\npeace. He had been Professor at Bonn, when Pusey came there as a young\nman to study Hebrew after he had been appointed Canon of Christ Church\nand Professor of Hebrew, and he expressed to me a wish to see Dr.\nPusey. I told him it would not be easy to arrange a meeting,\nconsidering how strongly opposed Dr. Pusey was to Ewald\u2019s opinions.\nPersonally I always found Pusey tolerant, and his kindness to me was a\nsurprise to all my young friends. But the fact was, we moved on\ndifferent planes, and though he knew my religious opinions well, they\nonly excited a smile, and he often said with a sigh, \u201cI know you are a\nGerman.\u201d His own idea was that he was placed at Oxford in order to\nsave the younger generation from seeing the abyss into which he\nhimself had looked with terror. He had read more heresy, he used to\nsay, than anybody, and he wished no one to pass through the trials\nand agonies through which he had passed, chiefly, I should think,\nduring his stay at a German university. The historical element was\nwanting in him, nay, like Hegel, he sometimes seemed to lay stress on\nthe unhistorical character of Christianity. My idea, on the contrary,\nwas that Christianity was a true historical event, prepared by many\nevents that had gone before and alone made it possible and real. Even\nthe abyss, if there were such an abyss, was, as it seemed to me, meant\nto be there on our passage through life, and was to be faced with a\nbrave heart.\n\nBut to return to my first experiences of the theological atmosphere of\nOxford, I confess I felt puzzled to see men, whose learning and\ncharacter I sincerely admired, absorbed in subjects which to my mind\nseemed simply childish. I expected I should hear from them some new\nviews on the date of the gospels, the meaning of revelation, the\nhistorical value of revelation, or the early history of the Church.\nNo, of all this not a word. Nothing but discussions on vestments, on\nprivate confession, on candles on the altar, whether they were wanted\nor not, on the altar being made of stone or of wood, of consecrated\nwine being mixed with water, of the priest turning his back on the\ncongregation, &c. I could not understand how these men, so high above\nthe ordinary level of men in all other respects, could put aside the\nfundamental questions of Christianity and give their whole mind to\nwhat seemed to me rightly called in the newspapers \u201cmere millinery.\u201d\nI sought information from Stanley, but he shrugged his shoulders and\nadvised me to keep aloof and say nothing. This I was most willing to\ndo; I cared for none of these things. My mind was occupied with far\nmore serious problems, such as I had heard explained by men of\nprofound learning and honest purpose in the great universities of\nGermany; these troubles arose from questions which seemed to me to\nhave no connexion with true religion at all. Even the differences\nbetween the reformed and unreformed churches were to me mere questions\nof history, mere questions of human expediency. I did not consider\nRoman Catholics as heretics\u2014I had known too many of them of\nunblemished character in Germany. I might have regretted the abuses\nwhich called for reform, the excrescences which had disfigured\nChristianity like many other religions, but which might be tolerated\nas long as they did not lead to toleration for intolerance. Luther\nmight no longer appear to me in the light of a perfect saint, but that\nhe was right in suppressing the time-honoured abuses of the Roman\nChurch admitted with me of no doubt whatsoever. Large numbers always\nhad that effect on me, and when I saw how many good and excellent men\nwere satisfied with the unreformed teaching of the Roman Church, I\nfelt convinced that they must attach a different meaning to certain\ndoctrines and ecclesiastical practices from what we did. I had\nlearned to discover what was good and true in all religions, and I\ncould fully agree with Macaulay when he said, \u201cIf people had lived in\na country where very sensible people worshipped the cow, they would\nnot fall out with people who worship saints.\u201d\n\nI know that many of my friends on both sides looked upon me as a\nlatitudinarian, but my conviction has always been that we could not be\nbroad enough. They looked upon me as wishing to keep on good terms\nwith high and low and broad, and I made no secret of it, that I\nthought I could understand Pusey as well as Stanley, and assign to\neach his proper place. Stanley was of course more after my own heart\nthan Pusey, but Pusey too was a man who interested me very much. I saw\nthat he might become a great power whether for good or for evil in\nEngland. He was, in fact, a historical character, and these were\nalways the men who interested me. He was fully aware of his importance\nin England, and the great influence which his name exercised. That\ninfluence was not always exercised in the right way, so at least it\nseemed to me, particularly when it was directed against such friends\nof mine as Kingsley, Froude, or Jowett. Once, I remember, when he had\ncome to my house, I ventured to tell him that he could not have meant\nwhat he had said in declaring that the God worshipped by Frederic\nMaurice was not the same as his God. Curious to say, he relented, and\nadmitted that he had used too strong language. To me everything that\nwas said of God seemed imperfect, and never to apply to God Himself\nbut only to the idea which the human mind had formed of Him. To me\neven the Hindu, if he spoke of Brahman or Krishna, seemed to have\naimed at the true God, in spite of the idolatrous epithets which he\nused; then how could a man like Frederic Maurice be said to have\nworshipped a different God, considering that we all can but feel after\nHim in the dark, not being able to do more than exclude all that seems\nto us unworthy of Deity?\n\nA very important element in the ecclesiastical views of some of my\nfriends was, no doubt, the artistic. If Johnson leant towards Rome, it\nwas the more ornate and beautiful service that touched and attracted\nhim. I sat near to him in St. Giles\u2019 Church; he told me what to do and\nwhat not to do during service. In spite of the Prayer-book, it is by\nno means so easy as people imagine to do exactly the right thing in\nchurch, and I had of course to learn a number of prayers and responses\nby heart. To me the service, as it was in my parish church, seemed\nalready too ornate, accustomed as I had been to the somewhat bare and\ncold service in the Lutheran Church at Dessau. But Johnson constantly\ncomplained about the monotonous and mechanical performances of the\nclergy. He had a strong feeling for all that was beautiful and\nimpressive in art, and he wanted to see the service of God in church\nfull both of reverence and beauty.\n\nJohnson\u2019s private collection of artistic treasures was very\nconsiderable, and I learnt much from the Italian engravings and Dutch\netchings which he possessed and delighted in showing. I often spent\nhappy hours with him examining his portfolios, and wondered how he\ncould afford to buy such treasures. But he knew when and where to buy,\nand I believe when his collection was sold after his death, it brought\na good deal more than it had cost him. Another collection of art was\nthat of Dr. Wellesley, the Principal of New Inn Hall, who was a friend\nof Johnson\u2019s and had collected most valuable antiquities during his\nlong stay in Italy. He was the son of the Marquis of Wellesley, a\nhandsome man, with all the refinement and courtesy of the old English\ngentleman. Though not perhaps very useful in the work of the\nUniversity, he was most pleasant to live with, and full of information\nin his own line of study, the history of art, chiefly of Italian art.\n\nThe beautiful services of the Roman Church abroad, and particularly at\nRome, certainly exercised a kind of magic attraction on many of the\nfriends of Wiseman and Newman, though one wonders that the sunny\ngrandeur of St. Peter\u2019s at Rome should ever have seemed more\nimpressive than the sombre sublimity and serene magnificence of\nWestminster Abbey. Unfortunately, the introduction of a more ornate\nservice, even of harmless candlesticks and the often very useful\nincense, had always a secret meaning. They were used as symbols of\nsomething of which the people had no conception, whereas in the early\nChurch they had been really natural and useful.\n\nIn the midst of all this commotion, and chiefly secret commotion, I\nfelt a perfect stranger; I saw the bright and dark sides, but I\nconfess I saw little of what I called religion. Though my own\nreligious struggles lay behind me, still there were many questions\nwhich pressed for a solution, but for which my friends at Oxford\nseemed either indifferent or unprepared. My practical religion was\nwhat I had learnt from my mother; that remained unshaken in all\nstorms, and in its extreme simplicity and childishness answered all\nthe purposes for which religion is meant. Then followed, in the\nUniversities of Leipzig and Berlin, the purely historical and\nscientific treatment of religion, which, while it explained many\nthings and destroyed many things, never interfered with my early ideas\nof right and wrong, never disturbed my life with God and in God, and\nseemed to satisfy all my religious wants. I never was frightened or\nshaken by the critical writings of Strauss or Ewald, of Renan or\nColenso. If what they said had an honest ring, I was delighted, for I\nfelt quite certain that they could never deprive me of the little I\nreally wanted. That little could never be little enough; it was like a\nstronghold with no fortifications, no trenches, and no walls around\nit. Suppose it was proved to me that, on geological evidence, the\nearth or the world could not have been created in six days, what was\nthat to me? Suppose it was proved to me that Christ could never have\ngiven leave to the unclean spirits to enter into the swine, what was\nthat to me? Let Colenso and Bishop Wilberforce, let Huxley and\nGladstone fight about such matters; their turbulent waves could never\ndisturb me, could never even reach me in my safe harbour. I had little\nto carry, no learned impedimenta to safeguard my faith. If a man\npossesses this one pearl of great price, he may save himself and his\ntreasure, but neither the tinselled vestments of a Cardinal, nor the\ntriple tiara that crowns the Head of the Church, will serve as\nlife-belts in the gales of doubt and controversy. My friends at Oxford\ndid not know that, though with my one jewel I seemed outwardly poor, I\nwas really richer and safer than many a Cardinal and many a Doctor of\nDivinity. A confession of faith, like a prayer, may be very long, but\nthe prayer of the Publican may have been more efficient than that of\nthe Pharisee.\n\nAfter a time I made an even more painful discovery: I found men, who\nwere considered quite orthodox, but who really were without any\nbelief. They spoke to me very freely, because they imagined that as a\nGerman I would think as they did, and that I should not be surprised\nif they looked on me as not quite sincere. It was not only honest\ndoubt that disturbed them. They had done with honest doubt, and they\nwere satisfied with a kind of Voltairian philosophy, which at last\nended in pure agnosticism. But even that, even professed agnosticism,\nI could understand, because it often meant no more than a confession\nof ignorance with regard to God, which we all confess, and need not\nnecessarily amount to the denial of the existence of Deity. But that\nVoltairian levity which scoffs at everything connected with religion\nwas certainly something I did not expect to meet with at Oxford, and\nwhich even now perplexes me. Of course, I should never think of\nmentioning names, but it seemed to me necessary to mention the fact,\nto complete the curious mosaic of theological and religious thought\nthat existed at Oxford at the time of my arrival.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nA CONFESSION\n\n\nOne confession I have to make, and one for which I can hardly hope for\nabsolution, whether from my friends or from my enemies. I have never\ndone anything; I have never been a doer, a canvasser, a wirepuller, a\nmanager, in the ordinary sense of these words. I have also shrunk from\nagitation, from clubs and from cliques, even from most respectable\nassociations and societies. Many people would call me an idle,\nuseless, and indolent man, and though I have not wasted many hours of\nmy life, I cannot deny the charge that I have neither fought battles,\nnor helped to conquer new countries, nor joined any syndicate to roll\nup a fortune. I have been a scholar, a _Stubengelehrter_, and _voil\u00e0\ntout_!\n\nMuch as I admired Ruskin when I saw him with his spade and\nwheelbarrow, encouraging and helping his undergraduate friends to make\na new road from one village to another, I never myself took to\ndigging, and shovelling, and carting. Nor could I quite agree with\nhim, happy as I always felt in listening to him, when he said: \u201cWhat\nwe think, or what we know, or what we believe, is in the end of\nlittle consequence. The only thing of consequence is what we do.\u201d My\nview of life has always been the very opposite! What we do, or what we\nbuild up, has always seemed to me of little consequence. Even Nineveh\nis now a mere desert of sand, and Ruskin\u2019s new road also has long\nsince been worn away. The only thing of consequence, to my mind, is\nwhat we think, what we know, what we believe! To Ruskin\u2019s ears such a\nsentiment was downright heresy, and I know quite well that it would be\ncondemned as extremely dangerous, if not downright wicked, by most\npeople, particularly in England. My friend, Charles Kingsley, preached\nmuscular Christianity, that is, he was always up and doing. Another\nold friend of mine, Carlyle, preached all his life that \u201cit was no use\ntalking, if one would not do.\u201d There is an old proverb in German, too,\n\n    \u201cDie nicht mit thaten,\n     Die nicht mit rathen\u201d;\n\nactually denying the right of giving advice to those who had not taken\na part in the fight.\n\nHowever, though I have not been a doer, a _faiseur_, as the French\nwould say, I do not wish to represent myself as a mere idle drone\nduring the long years of my quiet life. Nor did I stand quite alone in\nlooking on a scholar\u2019s life\u2014even when I was living in a garret _au\ncinqui\u00e8me_\u2014as a paradise on earth. Did not Emerson write, \u201cThe\nscholar is the man of the age\u201d? Did not even Mazzini, who certainly\nwas constantly up and trying to do, did not even he confess that men\nmust die, but that the amount of truth they have discovered does not\ndie with them? And Carlyle? Did he ever try to get into Parliament?\nDid he ever accept directorates? Did he join either the Chartists or\nthe Special Constables in Trafalgar Square? As in a concert you want\nlisteners as well as performers, so in public life, those who look on\nare quite as essential as those who shout and deal heavy blows.\n\nNature has not endowed everybody with the requisite muscle to be a\nmuscular Christian. But it may be said, that even if Carlyle and\nRuskin were absolved from doing muscular work in Trafalgar Square,\nwhat excuse could they plead for not walking in procession to Hyde\nPark, climbing up one of the platforms and haranguing the men and\nwomen and children? I suppose they had the feeling which the razor has\nwhen it is used for cutting stones: they would feel that it was not\nexactly their _m\u00e9tier_. Arguing when reason meets reason is most\ndelightful, whether we win or lose; but arguing against unreason,\nagainst anything that is by nature thick, dense, impenetrable,\nirrational, has always seemed to me the most disheartening occupation.\nMajorities, mere numerical majorities, by which the world is governed\nnow, strike me as mere brute force, though to argue against them is\nno doubt as foolish as arguing against a railway train that is going\nto crush you. Gladstone could harangue multitudes; so could Disraeli;\nall honour to them for it. But think of Carlyle or Ruskin doing so!\nStroking the shell of a tortoise, or the cupola of St. Paul\u2019s, would\nhave been no more attractive to them than addressing the discontented,\nwhen in their hundreds and their thousands they descended into the\nstreets. All I claim is that there must be a division of labour, and\nas little as Wayland Smith was useless in his smithy, when he hardened\nthe iron in the fire for making swords or horse-shoes, was Carlyle a\nman that could be spared, while he sat in his study preparing thoughts\nthat would not bend or break.\n\nBut I cannot even claim to have been a man of action in the sense in\nwhich Carlyle was in England, or Emerson in America. They were men who\nin their books were constantly teaching and preaching. \u201cDo this!\u201d they\nsaid; \u201cDo not do that!\u201d The Jewish prophets did much the same, and\nthey are not considered to have been useless men, though they did not\nmake bricks, or fight battles like Jehu. But the poor _Stubengelehrte_\nhas not even that comfort. Only now and then he gets some unexpected\nrecognition, as when Lord Derby, then Secretary of State for India,\ndeclared that the scholars who had discovered and proved the close\nrelationship between Sanskrit and English, had rendered more valuable\nservice to the Government of India than many a regiment. This may be\ncalled a mere assertion, and it is true that it cannot be proved\nmathematically, but what could have induced a man like Lord Derby to\nmake such a statement, except the sense of its truth produced on his\nmind by long experience?\n\nHowever, I can only speak for myself, and of my idea of work. I felt\nsatisfied when my work led me to a new discovery, whether it was the\ndiscovery of a new continent of thought, or of the smallest desert\nisland in the vast ocean of truth. I would gladly go so far as to try\nto convince my friends by a simple statement of facts. Let them follow\nthe same course and see whether I was right or wrong. But to make\npropaganda, to attempt to persuade by bringing pressure to bear, to\ncanvass and to organize, to found societies, to start new journals, to\ncall meetings and have them reported in the papers, has always been to\nme very much against the grain. If we know some truth, what does it\nmatter whether a few millions, more or less, see the truth as we see\nit? Truth is truth, whether it is accepted now or in millions of\nyears. Truth is in no hurry, at least it always seemed to me so. When\nface to face with a man, or a body of men, who would not be convinced,\nI never felt inclined to run my head against a stone wall, or to\nbecome an advocate and use the tricks of a lawyer. I have often been\nblamed for it, I have sometimes even regretted my indolence or my\nquiet happiness, when I felt that truth was on my side and by my side.\nI suppose there is no harm in personal canvassing, but as much as I\ndisliked being canvassed, did I feel it degrading to canvass others. I\nknow quite well how often it happened at a meeting when either a\nmeasure or a candidate was to be carried, that the voters had\nevidently been spoken to privately beforehand, had in the conscience\nof their heart promised their votes. The facts and arguments at the\nmeeting itself might all be on one side, but the majority was in\nfavour of the other. Men whose time was of little value had been round\nfrom house to house, a majority had been compacted into an inert\nunreasoning mass; and who would feel inclined to use his spade of\nreason against so much unreason? Some people, more honest than the\nrest, after the mischief was done, would say, \u201cWhy did you not call?\nwhy did you not write letters?\u201d I may be quite wrong, but I can only\nsay that it seemed to me like taking an unfair advantage, unfair to\nour opponents, and almost insulting to our friends. Still, from a\nworldly point of view, I was no doubt wrong, and it is certainly true\nthat I was often left in a minority. My friends have told me again and\nagain that if a good measure or a good man is to be carried, good men\nmust do some dirty work. If they cannot do that, they are of no use,\nand I doubt not that I have often been considered a very useless man\nby my political and academic friends, because I trusted to reason\nwhere there was no reason to trust to. I was asked to write letters,\nto address and post letters, to promise travelling expenses or even\nconvivial entertainments at Oxford, to get leaders and leaderettes\ninserted in newspapers. I simply loathed it, and at last declined to\ndo it. If a measure is carried by promise, not by argument, if an\nelection is carried by personal influence, not by reason, what happens\nis very often the same as what happens when fruit is pulled off a tree\nbefore it is ripe. It is expected to ripen by itself, but it never\nbecomes sweet, and often it rots. A premature measure may be carried\nthrough the House by a minister with a powerful majority, but it does\nnot acquire vitality and maturity by being carried; it often remains\non the Statute-book a dead letter, till in the end it has to be\nabolished with other rubbish.\n\nHowever, I have learnt to admire the indefatigable assiduity of men\nwho have slowly and partially secured their converts and their\nrecruits, and thus have carried in the end what they thought right and\nreasonable. I have seen it particularly at Oxford, where\nundergraduates were indoctrinated by their tutors, till they had taken\ntheir degree and could vote with their betters. I take all the blame\nand shame upon myself as a useless member of Congregation and\nConvocation, and of society at large. I was wrong in supposing that\nthe walls of Jericho would fall before the blast of reason, and wrong\nin abstaining from joining in the braying of rams\u2019 horns and the\nshouts of the people. I was fortunate, however, in counting among my\nmost intimate friends some of the most active and influential\nreformers in University, Church, and State, and it is quite possible\nthat I may often have influenced them in the hours of sweet converse;\nnay, that standing in the second rank, I may have helped to load the\nguns which they fired off with much effect afterwards. I felt that my\nopen partnership might even injure them more than it could help them;\nfor was it not always open to my opponents to say that I was a German,\nand therefore could not possibly understand purely English questions?\nBesides, there is another peculiarity which I have often observed in\nEngland. People like to do what has to be done by themselves. It\nseemed to me sometimes as if I had offended my friends if I did\nanything by myself, and without consulting them. Besides, my position,\neven after I had been in England for so many years, was always\npeculiar; for though I had spent nearly a whole life in the service of\nmy adopted country, though my political allegiance was due and was\ngladly given to England, still I was, and have always remained, a\nGerman.\n\nAnd next to Germany, which was young and full of ideals when I was\nyoung, there came India, and Indian thought which exercised their\nquieting influence on me. From a very early time I became conscious of\nthe narrow horizon of this life on earth, and the purely phenomenal\ncharacter of the world in which for a few years we have to live and\nmove and have our being. As students of classical and other Oriental\nhistory we come to admire the great empires with their palaces and\npyramids and temples and capitols. What could have seemed more real,\nmore grand, more likely to impress the young mind than Babylon and\nNineveh, Thebes and Alexandria, Jerusalem, Athens, and Rome? And now\nwhere are they? The very names of their great rulers and heroes are\nknown to few people only and have to be learnt by heart, without\ntelling us much of those who wore them. Many things for which\nthousands of human beings were willing to lay down their lives, and\nactually did lay them down, are to us mere words and dreams, myths,\nfables, and legends. If ever there was a doer, it was Hercules, and\nnow we are told that he was a mere myth!\n\nIf one reads the description of Babylonian and Egyptian campaigns, as\nrecorded on cuneiform cylinders and on the walls of ancient Egyptian\ntemples, the number of people slaughtered seems immense, the issues\noverwhelming; and yet what has become of it all? The inroads of the\nHuns, the expeditions of Genghis Khan and Timur, so fully described by\nhistorians, shook the whole world to its foundations, and now the sand\nof the desert disturbed by their armies lies as smooth as ever.\n\nWhat India teaches us is that in a state advancing towards\ncivilization, there must be always two castes or two classes of men, a\ncaste of Brahmans or of thinkers, and a caste of Kshatriyas, who are\nto fight; possibly other castes also of those who are to work and of\nthose who are to serve. Great wars went on in India, but they were\nleft to be fought by the warriors by profession. The peasants in their\nvillages remained quiet, accepting the consequences, whatever they\nmight be, and the Brahmans lived on, thinking and dreaming in their\nforests, satisfied to rule after the battle was over.\n\nAnd what applies to military struggles seems to me to apply to all\nstruggles\u2014political, religious, social, commercial, and even\nliterary. Let those who love to fight, fight; but let others who are\nfond of quiet work go on undisturbed in their own special callings.\nThat was, as far as we can see, the old Indian idea, or at all events\nthe ideal which the Brahmans wished to see realized. I do not stand up\nfor utter idleness or sloth, not even for drones, though nature does\nnot seem to condemn even _hoc genus_ altogether. All I plead for, as a\nscholar and a thinker, is freedom from canvassing, from letter-reading\nand letter-writing, from committees, deputations, meetings, public\ndinners, and all the rest. That will sound very selfish to the ears of\npractical men, and I understand why they should look upon men like\nmyself as hardly worth their salt. But what would they say to one of\nthe greatest fighters in the history of the world? What would they say\nto Julius Caesar, when he declares that the triumphs and the laurel\nwreaths of Cicero are as far nobler than those of warriors as it is a\ngreater achievement to extend the boundaries of the Roman intellect\nthan the domains of the Roman people?\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\nAbiturienten, Examination at Zerbst, 106\n\nAcland, Dr., 245\n\nAdmiration, power of, 90\n\nAitareya-br\u00e2hmana, 203\n\nAll Souls\u2019 Fellowship, 23\n  -- -- pinnacles, 225, 226\n\nAltenstein, Minister of Instruction, 131\n\nAnglican system, 209\n  -- orders, 291\n\nAnhalt-Dessau, Duchy of, 46\n\nAntiquities hid in etymologies, 152-154\n\nAnti-Semitism, 70, 71\n\nArnim, Count, 110\n\nArnold, Matthew, 282-283\n\nArtistic element in the Oxford movement, 303, 304\n\nAryan speakers may differ in blood, 32\n  -- and aboriginal languages of India, M. M.\u2019s paper on, 210, 211\n\nAryans of India, 197\n\nAryas, meaning of, 32\n\nAsval\u00e2yana S\u00fbtras, 203\n\nAtavism, 17, 25, 26, 27, 30\n\nAtavistic influences, 27\n\nAutobiography, object of M. M. in writing his, vi\n\nAutos, the, 35\n\n\nBabies, studying, 86\n\nBach family, 34\n\nBaden-Powell, Professor, 238, 245\n\nBandinell, Dr., 259-261\n\nBardelli, Abb\u00e9, 170\n\nBasedow, von, President, 54\n  -- the Pedagogue, 55, 76\n\nBathing, 77\n\nBernays, Professor, 69\n\nBiblioth\u00e8que Royale, 167\n\nBiographies, too lenient, 2\n  -- best kind of history, 14\n\nBismarck, 175\n\nBl\u00fccher, Marshal, 235\n\nBlum, Robert, 15\n\nBoden Professorship of Sanskrit, vii\n\nBodleian Library, 258, 259\n\nBoehtlingk, 181, 182, 183\n\nBooks, scarcity of, 67\n\nBopp, 125, 132, 148, 151, 156\n  -- his lectures, 156, 157\n\nBrahmo Somaj, service for the, 61\n\nBreakfast parties, 205\n\nBritish Association at Oxford, 210, 215\n\nBrockhaus, Professor, 147\n\nBuckle, 287\n\nBull, Dr., 40, 255, 256\n\nBunsen, Baron, 5, 13, 16\n  -- first visit to, 190, 191\n  -- his kindness, 193, 199, 221\n\nBurgon, 287\n\nBurnouf, 167, 169, 178, 179-182, 288\n\n\nCamerarius, 51\n\nCanon of Christ Church, an old, 256-258\n\nCanvassing, 312, 313\n\nCarlyle, 310, 311\n\nCarus, Professor, 98, 109\n\nChartist Deputation, 16\n\nChr\u00e9tian, 287\n\nChristianity, historical teaching of, in Germany, 65, 287, 291\n  -- an historical event, 300\n\nChurch, Dr., 287\n\nChurch, not for young children, 60\n\nCircumstances, influence of, 24\n\nClarke, Sir Andrew, 82, 86\n\nClassics, exaggerated praise of the, 101, 102\n  -- -- reactions from, 103\n  -- nothing takes their place, 103\n\nColebrooke, 192\n\nColenso, 298, 305\n\nCollegien-Buch, 121, 123-125\n\nComparative Philology, Professorship of, 12\n\nCongregation and Convocation, why M. M. kept away from, 314, 315\n\nConscience, the voice of, 63\n\nCoxe, Mr., 258\n\nCradock, Dr. and Mrs., 267\n\nCrawford, Mr., the Objector General, 211\n\nCurtius, 132, 151\n\n\nDarwin, 2, 11, 17, 131\n\nDavid, 107, 109\n\nDeafness in M. M.\u2019s family, 29\n\nDe Lisle, 293, 296\n\nDessau, Dukes of, 46\n  -- cheapness of life at, 56, 57\n  -- Gottesacker at, 57\n  -- only two classes at, 73\n  -- trade of, 73\n  -- public school at, 76\n  -- its walls, 89\n  -- M. M.\u2019s world, 89\n  -- simplicity of life at, 92\n  -- -- effect on the character, 92, 96\n  -- moral sayings, 96\n\nDevas, \u0398\u03b5\u1f41\u03c2, 144\n\nDieu, Deus, Devas, 197\n\nDonkin, Professor, 246\n\nDouble First, 240\n\nDrobisch, 129, 140, 142, 145\n\nDuels at University, 119, 128, 129, 284, 286\n\nDyaus, Zeus, Iovis, 197\n\n\nEarly life, roughing it, 91\n\nEast India Company, 14\n\nEast India House, 16, 215\n\nEckart, 107, 109\n\nEckstein, Baron d\u2019, 176, 177\n\n\u201cEdinburgh Review,\u201d first article in, 222\n\nEgyptian chronology, 199\n\n\u201cElsie Venner,\u201d 31\n\nEmerson, 310\n\nEncaenia, 265, 266\n  -- jokes at, 265\n\nEnglish and German Doctors, 84, 85\n\nEnvironment, 17, 18, 25\n\nErnst, 110\n\nEternal, _ewig_, 150, 151\n\nEtymologies, 152\n\nEvolution, 198\n\nEwald, 298, 299, 305\n\n\nFairy tales, influence of, 50-52\n\nFear, the feeling of, 88\n\nFeast of Tabernacles, 71\n\nFellowships, old system of, 246, 247, 263\n\nForbiger, 99\n\nFrench master at Dessau, 75\n\nFrench Revolution, 16, 216\n\nFriar Bacon, 227\n\nFr\u00f6ge, Professor, 109\n  -- his wife and Mendelssohn, 109\n\nFroude, J. A., 8, 287\n\nFunkh\u00e4nel, 99\n\n\nGaisford, Dr., 240, 252-254\n\nGathy, M., 165, 172\n\nGerman regiments, hymns sung by, 62\n  -- students, 213\n\nGermany and Germans, prejudice against, 20, 21\n  -- religious feeling in, 62\n\nGerm-plasm, 19, 28\n\nGewandhaus Concerts, 107\n\nGiordano Bruno on Oxford, 228\n\nGoethe, not always admired, 93\n\nGoldst\u00fccker, 170-172\n\nGoldwin Smith, 238\n\nGottesacker at Dessau, 57\n\nGrabau, M. M.\u2019s concerts with, 110\n\nGrandfather of M. M., 79-81\n\nGrandmother of M. M., 53\n\nGrant, Sir Alexander, 272, 273\n\nGreene\u2019s Oxford, 227\n\nGreenhill, Dr., 245\n\nGrenville, Lord, 229\n\nGreswell, Mr., 245\n\nGriffith, Dr., Master of University, 229\n\nGrimm, 151\n\nGr\u00fcnder, ein, 48\n\nGuizot, 182\n\n\nHabits acquired not hereditable, 33\n\nHagedorn, Baron, 112-114, 162\n  -- journey with him, 112\n  -- his plan of life for M. M., 113\n\nHahnemann, 82 _et seq._, 86\n\nHallam\u2019s literary dog, 209\n\nHare, Archdeacon, 205, 286\n  -- visit to, 208\n\nHase, 185\n\nHaupt, his Latin Society, 121, 125\n  -- his dislike to modern philology, 155, 156\n\nHawkins, Dr., 240, 249\n\nHeadaches, suffering from, 81 _et seq._\n  -- how cured, 83\n\nHeads of Houses, 234, 264\n  -- -- their power, 239\n\nHebdomadal Board, 239, 255\n\nHebrew taught at the Nicolai-Schule, 100\n\nHegel, 2\n  -- his philosophy, 130-138\n\nHegel\u2019s idea, 133-135\n  -- \u201cPhilosophy of Nature,\u201d 135, 136\n  -- \u201cPhilosophy of Religion,\u201d 135, 142\n  -- \u201cMetaphysics,\u201d 136\n\nHeinroth, 139\n\nHelps, Sir Arthur, 266\n\nHentzner, his description of Oxford, 228\n\nHerbart, school of, 129, 140, 142\n\nHeredity, 17\n\nHermann, Gottfried, 121, 125, 128\n  -- welcomed modern philology, 155\n  -- his kindness to M. M., 156\n\nHermae round the Theatre, 264\n\nHighland lady at Oxford, 229\n\nHiller, 107, 109\n  -- his oratorio, 110\n\nHistorical method, 198\n  -- events, their influence transitory, 315, 316\n\nHitopadesa, 51\n\nHolmes, Oliver Wendell, 6, 266\n\nH\u00f6nicke, Dr., 78\n\nHorace, \u201ccheekiness\u201d of, 102\n\nHuman weaknesses, allowance must be made for, 93, 94\n\nHumboldt, 181\n\n\nImprisonment, M. M.\u2019s, at University, 118, 119\n\nIndian thought, influence of, 315, 317\n\nIndolence, M. M.\u2019s, 312\n\nInherited and acquired qualities, difference between, 33\n\nInspiration and infallibility, 65, 66\n\nInstitut de France, 186\n  -- M. M. made Member, 186, 187\n\n\nJenkins, Dr., Master of Balliol, 250\n\nJerusalem, Bishopric of, 293\n\nJews at Dessau, 68, 70\n  -- their privileges in Germany, 70\n\nJohnson, Manuel, 286, 303\n  -- his art treasures, 303\n\nJowett, Professor, 4, 6, 287\n\n\nKaliwoda, 107\n\nKant\u2019s \u201cKritik,\u201d 138\n\nKaspar Hauser, 18\n\nKeshub Chunder Sen, 61\n\nKingsley, Charles, 5\n  -- and muscular Christianity, 309\n\nKlengel, 147\n\nKuhn, A., 154\n\n\nLamartine, 177\n\nLanguage, influence of, 31\n  -- differentiation of, 31, 32, 33\n  -- science of, 198\n\nLassen, 23\n\nLatham, Dr., 210\n\nLayard, 11, 205\n\nLeipzig, 15\n  -- school at, 97\n  -- University, 115\n\nLepsius, 159\n\nLiberals at University, 117, 118\n\nLiddell, Dr., 238\n  -- and Mrs., 267\n\nLiddell\u2019s Dictionary, 99\n\nLiszt, 107-111\n\nLondon, 188\n  -- society, peeps into, 205\n  -- M. M.\u2019s social difficulties, 206-208\n\nLongchamps, 167\n\nLotze, 129, 136, 139, 287\n\nLouis Lucien Bonaparte, 214\n\nLouis Napoleon, 16\n\nLuther, 64\n  -- his love of fairy tales, 50, 51\n  -- tercentenary, 105\n\n\nMaitland, Sir Peregrine, 251\n\nMammoth, 18\n\nManning, 296\n\nMasters, influence of, in German and English schools, 77\n\nMaurice, Frederick, 205, 286\n  -- Pusey\u2019s attack on, 302\n\nMemory changes, 39\n\nMendelssohn family, 33, 34\n\nMendelssohn, Felix, 107, 110\n  -- his death, 110\n  -- his concert for Liszt, 110, 111\n\nMendelssohn\u2019s \u201cHymn of Praise,\u201d 105\n  -- music in Oxford, 268\n\nMetternich, 72\n  -- his system, 117\n\nMezzofanti, 30\n\nMichelet, 287\n\nMill, John Stuart, 7, 14\n  -- his Autos, 7\n\nMill, Dr., mention of a Vedic hymn printed at Calcutta, 192\n\nMilton on Oxford, 228\n\nModern Literature, Professorship of, 12\n\nMommsen, 186, 187\n\nMoncalm, \u201cL\u2019origine de la Pens\u00e9e,\u201d 10 _n._\n\nMonk, M. M.\u2019s wish to be a, 24\n\nMonument-raising, 47\n\nMorier, 275-279\n\nMother, M. M.\u2019s, 57-59\n  -- her relations, 54, 55\n\nMozley, 287\n\nMSS., copying, 179\n\nMulde, excursion on foot along the, 112\n\nM\u00fcller, Wilhelm, 47, 48\n  -- his poems, 48\n  -- his family, 52, 53\n  -- his home and society, 55\n  -- early death, 56\n  -- monument to, 49\nMusic, its influence on M. M., 67\n  -- wished to make it his career, 111\n\n\u201cMyst\u00e8res de Paris,\u201d 174\n\n\nNatural Science and Mathematics little taught at Nicolai-Schule, 100\n\nNeander, 21, 22\n\nNewman, 286, 292-296\n  -- want of openness in his friends, 292, 296\n  -- his influence, 293\n  -- on \u201cLives of the Saints,\u201d 294, 295\n\nNewspapers few in number, 71\n  -- influence of modern, 72\n  -- old, 74\n\nNicolai-Schule, 99\n  -- chiefly for classics, 99-101\n\nNiebuhr, 191, 289\n\nNiedner, Dr., 127, 137, 140\n\nNirukta, the, 203\n\nNobbe, Dr., 99\n  -- his testimonial, 105\n\n\nOld and young men, 36\n\nOriental languages, 146\n\nOrl\u00e9ans, Duchesse d\u2019, 177\n\nOxford, first visit to, 213\n  -- settled at, 220\n  -- social life at, 220, 221\n  -- changes in, 223-226\n  -- new buildings, 224, 225\n  -- conservative, 226\n  -- Greene\u2019s, 227\n  -- Hentzner\u2019s description of, 228\n  -- Giordano Bruno on, 228\n  -- Milton on, 228\n  -- society in 1810, 229-231\n  -- great changes in, 243, 244\n  -- society at, in the forties and fifties, 244, 245\n  -- city society of, 245, 246\n  -- high tone of talk, 284\n  -- theological atmosphere at, 286\n  -- trivial questions of ceremony in, 291, 292, 300, 301\n\n\nPalgrave, 274, 287\n\nPalm, Dr., 99\n\nPalmerston, Lord, 16, 217\n\nP\u00e2nini, 182\n  -- his grammar, 204\n\nPantschatantra, 51\n\nPaper, scarcity of, 67\n\nParental influences, 27\n\nParis, 15, 162\n\nParis, journey to, 163, 164\n  -- meals there, 166\n  -- hard struggles in, 173, 283\n\nPatagonians as types of humanity, 88\n\nPeel, Sir Robert, 205\n\nPhilanthropinum, 54, 76\n\nPhilology, love of, 121\n\nPhilosophy, studied by M. M., 129, 137, 146\n\nPhysical science, revolt of, against Hegel, 135\n\nPillar and pillow, 189\n\n\u201cPitar,\u201d father, 153\n\nPitcairn Islands, 18\n\nPlumptre, Dr., 213, 215, 265\n\nPoems, M. M.\u2019s, 104, 105\n\nPollen, 287\n\nPott, 151, 160\n\nPranks at University, 119, 120\n\n\u201cPresence of mind,\u201d 262\n\nPrichard, Dr., 211, 212, 221\n\nProfessor\u2019s lectures and fees, 121, 122\n\nProfessors, feeling of German students for their, 127\n\nProto-Aryan language, 200\n\nProwe, Professor, 116, 117\n\nPublic schools in Germany, 98\n  -- -- in England need reforming, 242\n\nPusey, Dr., 261, 299, 302\n\n\nRace, differentiation of, 35\n\nRawlinson, Sir H., 205\n\nReay, Professor, 260\n\nReinaud, 186\n\nReligion, practical, 305, 306\n\nReligious feeling in Germany, 68\n  -- -- great tolerance in, 70, 71\n  -- sentiments must be taught at home, 62\n  -- teaching in school, 63\n\nRenan, 185, 186, 288, 289, 290, 305\n\nResearch, fellowships for, 270\n\nRevelation, subjective not objective, 66\n  -- in the old sense, 288\n\nRigaud, John, 287\n\nRig-veda, how to publish the, 181, 182\n  -- printing of, 222\n\nRoman Catholic Church, English national feeling opposed to, 296, 297\n\nRose-bush, vision of the, 43, 44\n\nRoth, 170, 171\n\nRouth, Dr., 247-249\n\nRubens, Levy, 75\n\nRuskin, 224\n\nRussell, Sir W., 37, 190\n\n\nSadowa, and Sixty-six, 38\n\nSt. Hilaire, Barth\u00e9lemy, 170\n\nSt. Petersburg, idea of going to, 181, 183\n\nSalis-Schwabe, Madame, 98\n\nSalmon at Dessau, 56, 57\n\n\u201cSalve caput cruentatum,\u201d 59\n\nSanskrit Professorship, vii, 12\n  -- chair of, at Leipzig, 147\n  -- feeling against, 147\n  -- unedited works, 204\n\nSavigny, Professor, 122\n\nS\u00e2yana\u2019s Commentary, 202-204\n\nSchelling, 156, 195, 287, 289\n\nSchlegel\u2019s \u201cWeisheit der Indier,\u201d 146\n\nSchleswig-Holstein question, 276\n\nSchloezer, Karl von, 174, 176\n\nSchool teaching, 67, 68\n  -- success at, 104, 105\n  -- routine of learning, 120\n\nSchopenhauer, 289\n\nSelbst-Kritik, 6\n\nSelf, the, 42\n\nSellar, Professor, 273, 274\n\nSeminaries and societies at University, 123\n\nSenatus Academicus, 236, 237\n\nShelley, 233\n\nSimolin, Baron, 55\n\nSister, M. M.\u2019s, 115, 116\n\nSpiegel, Professor, 147\n\nSport, M. M.\u2019s dislike of, 80\n\nStanislas Julien, 185\n\nStanley, Dr., 5, 41, 238, 286, 287, 302\n\nSteel pens, 67\n\nStories in Oxford, regular descent of, 248\n\nStrauss, 21, 305\n\nStubengelehrter, 308, 311\n\nStudent Clubs, 116\n\nStudent life in Paris, 184\n\nSunday games at the Observatory, 298\n\nSykes, Colonel, 16\n\nSymons, Dr., 239, 240, 251\n\nSympathy in the joys and sufferings of others, 41, 42\n\n\nTait, Dr., 238\n\nTalents in families, 33-35\n\nTaylorian Professorship, 22\n\nTelegraphs, old, 72\n\nTestimonials, 4\n\nThalberg, 111\n\nThirlwall, 205\n\nThomson, Dr. and Mrs., 267, 268, 280, 281\n\nTippoo Sahib\u2019s tiger, 215\n\nTravelling in the thirties, 111\n\nTroyer, M., and the Duchesse de Wagram, 184\n\nTruth, 312\n\nTuranian languages, M. M.\u2019s letter on, 160, 161\n\nTutors and Fellows, 236\n  -- -- their influence, 241, 268, 269\n\n\nUniversity, M. M.\u2019s life at, 115, 116\n  -- pranks, 119, 120\n  -- duels at, 119, 128-130\n\nUniversity Press, 218, 219\n\nUpanishads, 169\n\n\nVan der Weyer, 205\n\nVeda, 9, 12-14, 148, 168\n\nVeda, a mystery, 191, 194\n  -- MSS. of, in India, 192\n  -- -- brought to Europe, 193\n  -- oldest of real books, 195\n  -- primitive thought in the, 195, 197-199\n  -- date of, 200\n  -- translations of, 201\n  -- East India Company and the, 201\n  -- forming correct text of the Rig-, 202\n  -- enormous work involved, 204\n\nVedic scholarship, 193\n\n_Veih_, home, 153\n\n_Vernunft_ and _Verstand_, 143\n\nVigfusson, Dr., 254\n\nVoltairian philosophy at Oxford, 307\n\n\nWeismann, 27-30\n\nWeisse, 129, 132-135, 139-142, 287\n\nWellesley, Dr., 304\n\nWellington, Duke of, 16, 40, 205\n\nWestminster Abbey and St. Peter\u2019s, 304\n\nWilberforce, Samuel, 207, 208\n\nWilson, Professor, 158, 159\n\nWiseman, 296\n\nWolf, F. A., 48\n\nWolseley, Lord, 266\n\nWren, Sir Christopher, 264\n\nWright, Dr., 261, 262\n\n\nYouth painted by the old, 35, 36\n\n\nZerbst, examined at, 106\n  -- M. M.\u2019s examiners at, 106\n\nZeus, Dyaus, 148, 149\n\n\n\n\nOTHER BOOKS BY MAX M\u00dcLLER\n\n\nAuld Lang Syne\n\n_First Series._ Illustrated. 8vo, $2.00\n\n\u201cThis book, the fruit of enforced leisure, as its author tells us, is\na charming mass of gossip about people whom Professor Max M\u00fcller has\nknown during his long career\u2014musicians, literary men, princes, and\nbeggars. The last class is not, perhaps, the least interesting or\namusing. To our mind, however, the chapter on musicians, with its\ndelightful pictures of the author\u2019s early life, and the na\u00efve\nconfessions as to musical tastes, with some of the stories about\ncelebrated composers, forms the most interesting portion of a work\nwhich has not one dull page.\u201d\u2014_The Spectator._\n\n\u201cOne of the most charming examples of reminiscent literature that has\nrecently seen the light.\u201d\u2014New York _Sun_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nAuld Lang Syne\n\n_Second Series._ =My Indian Friends.= 8vo, $2.00.\n\n\u201cThe professor\u2019s \u2018Indian Friends\u2019 are not all of the nineteenth\ncentury. His oldest friends are in the Veda, about which he has always\nloved to write. Indeed, he spent the best years of his life over the\ntext of the Rig Veda, and has a clear right to be heard upon the\nclassic he has done so much to make familiar.... But the real charm of\nhis recollections lies rather in their peaceful kindliness, in their\nwide and tolerant sympathies, and in their earnest aim, which will\nsurely be attained in some measure, of bringing what is best in India\ncloser home to foreigners.\u201d\u2014_Literature._\n\n\nScience of Language\n\nFounded on Lectures delivered at the Royal Institution. _New Edition\nfrom New Plates. Largely Re-written._ In 2 vols., crown 8vo, $6.00.\n\n_CONTENTS:\u2014Vol. I.\u2014The Science of Language one of the Physical\nSciences; The Growth of Language in Contradistinction to the History\nof Language; The Empirical Stage in the Science of Language; The\nClassificatory Stage in the Science of Language; The Genealogical\nClassification of Languages; Comparative Grammar; The Constituent\nElements of Language; The Morphological Classification of Languages;\nThe Theoretical Stage in the Science of Language\u2014Origin of Language;\nGenealogical Tables of Languages._\n\n_CONTENTS:\u2014Vol. II.\u2014Introductory Lecture. New Materials for the\nScience of Language and New Theories; Language and Reason; The\nPhysiological Alphabet; Phonetic Change; Grimm\u2019s Law; On the\nPrinciples of Etymology; On the Powers of Roots; Metaphor; The\nMythology of the Greeks; Jupiter, The Supreme Aryan God; Myths of the\nDawn; Modern Mythology._\n\n\u201cIn practical value to the student of the science of language, the\nwork stands alone.\u201d\u2014Boston _Transcript_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nRamakrishna\n\n=His Life and Sayings.= Crown 8vo, $1.50 _net_.\n\n\u201cAs a whole the little book marks one of the summit points of recent\nscientific religious literature. Max M\u00fcller\u2019s penetrating insight into\nthe broad facts of Hindu intellectual history is coupled in this\ninstance with all the just criticism needed for a true valuation of\nRamakrishna\u2019s personality and teaching.\u201d\u2014_American Historical\nReview._\n\n\nScience of Thought\n\n_Two Volumes._ Crown 8vo, $4.00.\n\n\u201cOf the portion of the work in which the author exemplifies and\nillustrates his theory\u2014his analysis of the Sanskrit roots, his\nchapters on Kant\u2019s philosophy, on the formation of words, on\npropositions and syllogisms\u2014it is only necessary to say that while\nthey contain, along with much that will reward a careful study, not a\nlittle that will arouse controversy, they have, like all the author\u2019s\nformer productions, the prime merit of being free from the two\ngreatest of literary faults\u2014obscurity and dulness. A work in which\ntwo of the driest and hardest of studies, analytic philology and\nmental philosophy, are made at once lucid and attractive, is an\nacquisition for which all students of those mysteries have reason to\nbe grateful.\u201d\u2014New York _Evening Post_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nScience of Religion\n\n=Lectures on the Science of Religion=; with Papers on Buddhism, and a\nTranslation of the Dhammapada, or Path of Virtue. Crown 8vo, $2.00.\n\n_CONTENTS:\u2014LECTURES ON THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION; BUDDHIST NIHILISM;\nBUDDHA\u2019S DHAMMAPADA, OR \u201cPATH OF VIRTUE\u201d; Introduction; The\nTwin-Verses; On Reflection; Thought; Flowers; The Fool; The Wise Man;\nThe Venerable; The Thousands; Evil; Punishment; Old Age; Self; The\nWorld; The Awakened (Buddha); Happiness; Pleasure; Anger; Impurity;\nThe Just; The Way; Miscellaneous; The Downward Course; The Elephant;\nThirst; The Bhikshu (Mendicant); The Brahmana._\n\n\nChips from a German Workshop\n\n_Five Volumes._ Crown 8vo, $2.00 per vol.; the set, $10.00.\n\nVol. I. Essays on the Science of Religion.\n\nVol. II. Essays on Mythology, Traditions and Customs.\n\nVol. III. Essays on Literature, Biography and Antiquities.\n\nVol. IV. Comparative Philology, Mythology, etc.\n\nVol. V. Miscellaneous. Later Essays.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n=Lectures on the Origin and Growth of Religion=, as Illustrated by the\nReligions of India. [_Hibbert Lectures for 1878._] Crown 8vo, $1.50\n_net_.\n\n=Biographical Essays=: R\u00e2mmohun Roy\u2014Keshub Chunder Sen\u2014Day\u00e2nanda\nSarasvat\u00ee\u2014Bunyiu Nanjio\u2014Kenjiu Kasawara\u2014Mohl\u2014Kingsley. Crown 8vo,\n$2.00.\n\n=The German Classics.= From the Fourth to the Nineteenth Century. With\nbiographical notices, translations into modern German and notes. _A\nNew Edition, Revised, Enlarged and Adapted to_ SHERER\u2019S \u201cHistory of\nGerman Literature.\u201d 2 vols, $6.00 _net_.\n\n\nCHARLES SCRIBNER\u2019S SONS, _Publishers_\n\n153-157 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK","title":"My Autobiography: A Fragment","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":85806}