TUESDAY, late at night.
The enclosed letter from August. Grau, of Montgomery County, Ohio, dated
February 6, 1852, contains the following: “A gentleman who has travelled
over a large portion of the earth, who, by the publication of so many
excellent writings, has erected for himself so durable and so
resplendent a monument on the field of literature and science, is not to
be named by any German without the greatest esteem. When the names of
great warriors who have spilt the blood of their fellow-men upon the
battle-field shall be forgotten, your name will blaze for hundreds and
thousands of years in the annals of history. But it is singular, at the
same time, that the greatest naturalists, philosophers, and astronomers
who have occupied the principal portion of their lives with new
inventions, and with investigations into the elementary powers of
nature, are often totally indifferent to their salvation or perdition in
the world to come. Goethe, Schiller, Wieland, and Kant, were all
distinguished characters and brilliant ideals, and in their walk and
conversation were more or less observant of what are called the laws of
morality, so as probably to abstain from cards, nine-pins, playhouses,
and dancing, but their sphere of operations did not reach into eternity,
and the fate of their fellow-men in the other world—their salvation—was
of little interest to them.” After launching into further sanctified
regrets at the scarcity of true godliness, and its absence even in
princes and royal chaplains, the writer continues: “The last King of
Prussia, and his truly royal Louise, had some knowledge of a state of
regeneration, as well as the last King of Sweden, the former French
Marshal Bernadotte, Prince of Ponte Corvo. A poor peasant was better
able to enlighten him on the means of salvation than one of the first
bishops of the Lutheran church. O, Sir Privy Councillor, while I do full
justice to your unblemished life, your high character as a statesman,
and your acquirements as a man of science; and while I rejoice that
Berlin—ay, that Prussia may boast of such a man as your Excellency, yet
my joy would turn into holy exultation if I should have the honor of
seeing you a warm disciple of Him who died upon Golgotha. Without Him,
Lord Chamberlain, with all our acquirements, with all our boasted
knowledge, we are singularly unhappy.” Further on, the letter reads:
“Goethe says, on a certain occasion, that during the whole course of his
long life he had not spent four happy weeks. These are the words of a
great man of science. If Christ has not taken up his residence in our
hearts, who else can be there but Satan? One of them, surely, must be
there—one must wield the baton of command. It is manifestly impossible
at one and the same time to serve two masters! Worthy sir, my gracious
Lord Chamberlain, I am penetrated with great esteem for you and your
lofty merits; I love and revere you. I am not worthy to unlace your
shoes. This is the unconstrained language of my heart; although I have
occupied myself with acquiring the elements of seventeen different
languages, and can even at this day read the writings of the New
Testament in seven different tongues. But I have not only been firmly
convinced of the truth of the Christian religion for thirty-one years,
but experience the influence of the Holy Ghost from day to day, and
almost from hour to hour.” The letter is subscribed, “Your Grace’s most
devoted servant and brother in Christ, Augustus Grau.” Humboldt adds the
remark: “An attempt at conversion, from the State of Ohio.”
150.
HUMBOLDT TO VARNHAGEN.
BERLIN, _March 13th, 1853_.
The confusion of my lonely life, my dear friend of many years, at a time
of such profound moral degradation, leaves me in a harassing uncertainty
as to whether I have or have not sent you the seventh volume of my
brother’s complete works. I am greatly ashamed, but I know that you have
not yet learned to be angry with me. The article against Capodistrias,
the demand for the surrender of Strasburg, sounds like the irony of fate
upon our present humility....
With ancient love and reverence, yours,
A. V. HUMBOLDT.
The death of Leopold von Buch bows me deeply. A happy blending of the
most noble, philanthropic sentiments, momentary impulses, and a little
despotism of opinion; one of the few men who have a physiognomy. He has
given a new form to his science; he was one of the greatest
illustrations of our times; our friendship has endured sixty-three
years, unruffled, although we often tilled the same field. I found him,
in Freiberg, in 1791, where he had come to the Mining Academy before
myself, although five years younger. His funeral appeared like a prelude
to my own, C’est comme cela que je serai dimanche. And in what a
condition do I leave the world—I who lived in 1789? But centuries are as
seconds in the mighty development of advancing humanity. The swelling
curve, however, has its little indentations, and it is irksome to be
found in such an interval of decadence.
151.
HUMBOLDT TO VARNHAGEN.
BERLIN, _March 14th, 1853_.
Hearty thanks for the comfort derived from the characteristic word of
Fontenelle’s, hitherto unknown to me—but twenty years are too short to
see anything better! Your Buelow von Dennewitz is great and good news to
me! The treasure of the warm-blooded Leopold von Buch I return inclosed.
May not Friedrich Schlegel’s astronomical vision be connected with
conversations I had with him at Vienna on the certainty that we shall
see the southern cross rise again in Germany, where it has already shone
in _historic_ ages? Let me remind you of a passage in my Kosmos (II. p.
333), which derives some interest for you from its reliable
chronological date. “It was not more than 2900 years before our era that
the cross became invisible in Northern Germany. The constellation had
ascended as far as the tenth degree above the horizon. When it
disappeared from the Baltic skies, the pyramid of Cheops had already
stood five hundred years. The shepherd nation of the Hyksos invaded
Egypt seven hundred years later. The past becomes apparently less remote
when we can measure it by reference to memorable events.”
Persevere in your diligence upon Buelow von Dennewitz, who became very
dear to me in Paris. Fond of music, he was very affable in the family of
Lafayette, in the little chateau of Lagrange, at Paris—Lafayette’s
country-seat, where Buelow was quartered.
Yours,
A. V. HUMBOLDT.