195.
HUMBOLDT TO VARNHAGEN.
BERLIN, _Feb. 7th, 1857_.
When I read anything in Berlin that enlists my political or literary
attention, my first thought is of you. Lasaulx of Munich, of Baader’s
tribe, was only known to me as a man of the “Kreuz Zeitung” and of
Schubert’s World of Darkness, and the new historical work he sends me
contains little originality of views, but it manifests, by way of
allusion, a wealth of positive knowledge, which I had not expected of
the man. Numerous citations indicate a great preference for the views of
my brother. The Slavonic passage in regard to the Messiah is also
remarkable, and the notes present a rich collection of antiquities. I
should not look for anything of the sort from President Gerlach and his
brother, to whom Professor Gelzer of Basle, and others, of opinions
opposite to his, have been officially referred in the Neufchatel
negotiations. If Lasaulx is not agreeable to you on account of his
wishes for the restoration of the ancient German empire, you may find it
interesting to skim over the work, and glance at the notes.
My cutaneous disease is much better, as also my nocturnal diligence. The
fourth and last volume of Kosmos will consist of two parts, _i.e._, of
two volumes, each of thirty-five sheets, the first of which has already
left the press. Both the parts, however, are to appear _together_, to
avoid spoiling the effect of a continuous description, beginning with
the internal warmth of the earth, and ending with the different races of
man.
The presumptuous want of caution with which the pitiful Neufchatel
affair is carried on here, exposes Prussia to great humiliation at
Paris. Waterloo will be avenged on Prussia as it has been on Russia.
Yours most truly,
A. V. HT.
196.
VARNHAGEN TO HUMBOLDT.
BERLIN, _Feb. 9th, 1857_.
Your Excellency will receive, accompanying this, with my most hearty
thanks, the book so kindly lent me. I have read it with varied emotions,
I might say with painful interest. True, the author makes concessions,
and opens up points of view, which I should not have expected any more
than the luxurious learning of his manifold citations. But the pretty
collection of notes fails to mantle the kernel of the text, which is
extremely bitter; the apology of negro slavery, the brutal praise of
warfare and of standing armies, and the beneficence of _aristocratic_
revolutions, in spite of his far-fetched compliments, which look like
invitations to be converted, the author really offers nothing but the
fare of the “Kreuz Zeitung,” in a preparation somewhat more delicate
than that of Professor Leo, whose “mire of cultivation” and “scrofulous
rabble” are here cooked up with spices. _Latet anguis in herba!_ I must
say that I always take the alarm when philosophers undertake to measure
the course and the stage of human development, and to combine the meagre
dates of our puny history, of at most a few thousand years, with laws
for the possibilities of millions of years. Neither Fichte, nor
Schelling, nor Steffens, nor Hegel, were particularly fortunate in their
essays; the assignment of the ages is best left to the poets. What is
especially singular in our author is that he confesses to a strong doubt
of his own doctrine, for he “cannot practically renounce the national
Ideal of a restored emperor and empire, although his theoretical faith
in their realization is slight” (p. 157). One who writes thus has
written his own sentence. A friendly answer at the hands of your
Excellency the author may hope to receive, an approving one you will not
be able to give him.
To hear that your welfare, your activity, your energy, continue
unaltered and progressive, is refreshing and encouraging to us authors,
who stand in need of great example to protect us from flagging in our
daily work, ολίγον τε φίλον τε. The views of the new volume of Kosmos
give me great delight, and, as Schiller said when Goethe produced one of
his masterpieces, “I thank the gods that they have suffered me to live
to see it.”
The Neufchatel affair, even in its present stage, has in it much that is
disheartening, and I was from the first opposed to our negotiations at
Paris, which had all the appearance of snares, in which much may yet be
entangled. The zeal displayed by many is not at all sincere, but seems
an excellent means for the attainment of other ends, and will probably
be successful. Nevertheless, I am without anxiety for the future, the
light cannot be extinguished and must triumph; it is only the moment of
darkness that is hard to bear.
With the best wishes, in the greatest veneration and devotion,
I remain your Excellency’s most obedient,
VARNHAGEN VON ENSE.
197.
VARNHAGEN TO HUMBOLDT.
BERLIN, _February 20th, 1857_.
Will your Excellency pardon me for trespassing on your valuable time a
moment? Not for myself, but for a literary project from which I cannot
withhold my personal interest, if only on the score of old acquaintance!
Professor Francis Hoffmann, of Wuerzburg, is engaged upon the
publication of the works of Francis von Baader, which he pursues with
self-sacrificing perseverance. I may say against wind and tide. He is
about closing the enterprise with a sketch of the life of his author,
and is anxious not to pass over unmentioned the fact, that Baader
attended the Mining Academy at Freiberg, at the same time with your
Excellency. It would be invaluable to him to obtain a word of reference
to the matter from yourself, a bare hint as to whether any relation of
moment took place between you, or whether he made any impression upon
you? I would not presume to trouble your Excellency, if I did not take
for granted that either a memento, or the contents of a single line,
would dispose of the matter!
The crowd and your Excellency’s early departure prevented me from making
my salutation at the Artists’ Festival. It is more than twenty years
since I have ventured into such deep waters.
Strange reports are in circulation. I hope it is only a jest that
presents M. Niebuhr as the Future Minister of finance, and M. Wagener as
Privy Councillor, with a seat in the cabinet.
With a repeated request of your indulgence, I remain, with the most
profound esteem, and in the most sincere devotion,
Your Excellency’s most obedient,
VARNHAGEN VON ENSE.
On Humboldt’s attack of sickness, Varnhagen’s diary of February 27,
1857, contains the following: “M. Hernrann Grimm called, coming from
Humboldt’s apartments, where he had conversed with Seiffert, the valet.
It is not a cold that has befallen Humboldt, but a far more serious
attack, a paralytic stroke. After the court ball on Tuesday evening he
felt unwell, in the night he left his bed to drink some water—wished to
avoid disturbing the servant—and fell upon the floor. Seiffert awoke
with the noise, and found his master speechless and unconscious; it was
some time before he revived. Privy Councillor Schoenlein is not
sanguine; he had not a very good night.”
Humboldt’s loss would be irreparable. He is a counterpoise to so much
that is mean and contemptible, which, after his death, would boldly seek
the light and glory in its own depravity. The honor and influence of
science are embodied in him, and both would sink if he were taken away.
There is not now a name in Germany, or in Europe, like his, not an
influence in Berlin more extensive or more generally recognised than
his. And how painful would his loss be to me! His name and his
intercourse is attached to fifty years of my life, he has known those
who were near and dear to us of old!
Under March 14th, Varnhagen narrates in his diary: “When the King was
with Humboldt, Schoenlein said to the latter, that he would not be able
for some time to stand firmly on his left side, to which Humboldt
rejoined: ‘For all that, it will not be necessary for me to sit on the
right with Gerlach.’”[91]
198.
VARNHAGEN TO HUMBOLDT.
BERLIN, _March 17th, 1857_.
I cannot deny myself the pleasure to offer to your Excellency my most
heartfelt congratulations for your happy and perfect recovery! The
finest and most powerful testimony of it is the letter to Privy
Councillor Boeckh, which appeared in the papers this morning, and which
no epithet of praise will suffice to describe. Such an invocation has
never yet fallen to the lot of any man, and the receiver will not fail
to honor and appreciate it as the most precious of all the gifts
bestowed upon him. How fresh must have been the mind, and how warm the
heart, from which it emanates, and how sterling and graceful at once is
its expression! Even its narrative form—its Herodotic narrative, I might
call it—is of inestimable value, and shows us a beautiful combination of
youth preserved and old age achieved.
May your Excellency pardon this overflow of sentiment! You have no need
of my words, but to me it is not possible to suppress them, and I
therefore will give free vent to my most fervent desire, that the
radiating star, covered for a moment by a cloud, may still shine upon us
for a long time in accustomed splendor, and may forebode, as heretofore,
health and wealth at home and abroad.
With profound veneration and gratitude,
Ever faithfully your most devoted
VARNHAGEN VON ENSE.
These lines are not so presumptuous as to expect an answer.
199.
HUMBOLDT TO VARNHAGEN.
BERLIN, _March 19th, 1857_—_at Night_.
How should I deny myself the pleasure to thank you, the dearest, ablest,
and most attached of my friends. Not indulgence—no, praising expressions
on my address to Boeckh—a praise of form, of the vesture of thought—has
been my lot from the lips of the master of language, and of the delicate
turns of good-will. You caused me great joy, more than you anticipated.
What my nervous affection was, which produced a paralysis of such short
duration, with the functions of the brain remaining entirely free, with
pulse unchanged, with preservation of sight, and of all motion of the
extremities subject to will, I cannot divine. There are magnetic storms
(the polar light), electric storms in the clouds, nervous storms in man,
heavy and light ones—perhaps, also, sheet lightning, _foreboding_ the
others. I had serious thoughts of death, _comme un homme qui part, ayant
encore beaucoup de lettres à écrire_. Other interests, which for ever
remain alive in me, bind me to the memories of yesterday!! I believe
myself in full convalescence; but as I had to rest much on the bed
without occupation, sadness and displeasure of the world have increased
in me. This I say to you alone. I shall soon come to you, and thank you
orally from the depths of my soul. All around us puts us to shame.