212.
HUMBOLDT TO VARNHAGEN.
BERLIN, _June 19th, 1857_.
To my greatest joy, a beautiful portrait of yourself was brought me by
Mr. Richard Zeune, during an excursion to Tegel. I know not which most
to admire, the fresh, vivid, characteristic likeness of features so dear
to me (the talent of the skilful Miss Ludmilla Assing), or the writing
of your hand, so pregnant in thought and expression. The latter I have
copied myself and shown it to my friends, because it is to be ranked
with the best of what our language contains in the sententious
compression of ideas. The unexpected arrival of the brothers
Schlagintweit from Cashmere, Thibet, and the Kuen Luen mountains, which
bound Thibet on the north, as the Himalaya on the south, has
unreasonably delayed my acknowledgment of your kindness, as they are
going to the King at Marienbad, without, it is to be hoped, the three
hundred and forty boxes they have brought with them. All the _passes_,
even those most convenient for travel, are 18,000 feet high. From the
liberal grand ducal power (not liberal in the prosaic sense of filthy
lucre), not a syllable, probably because he is expecting us to send him
fresh proposals, fresh victims. No one but the honorary Hungarian
monk[95] and the princess is now a riddle to me.
Yours most faithfully,
A. V. HUMBOLDT.
The Emperor Napoleon has adroitly mended what before was dubious, by
means of very amiable letters, rich in delicate turns of language,
addressed to me by Prince Napoleon (plon plon), and Walewski. As
Niebuhr, the Prussian Cabinet Councillor, is publishing a book on Noric
Antiquities, nothing remains to cause surprise, not even the FREE
canvass for the _free_ election in _free_ France. I believe a few weeks
in Branitz will be of benefit to you.
213.
HUMBOLDT TO VARNHAGEN.
BERLIN, _June 30th, 1857_.
I am at a loss for words to express to you, my honored friend, and to
the amiable and brilliant artist and authoress, Ludmilla Assing, what
pleasure you have provided for my solitude, by “Elisa von Ahlefeldt,” a
pleasure still to be enjoyed by all who will deprive me of it for a few
days. Who can read without emotion a fate so tender, so simple, told in
such glowing language, by Miss Ludmilla; who can escape the most anxious
reflections about the tortures of sentiment which the most noble and
cultivated of mankind are skilled in inflicting on themselves about
passion half-dogmatic in character, for the gratification of which the
difficult institution of official marriage is inadequate. Elisa von
Ahlefeldt loved Adolph von Luetzow, but only as the vigorous
representative of a noble political sentiment. The motive for the
disruption of the fetters, indelicate on his part, has something
depressing. Immerman wishes to be loved, dreads the constraint of
marriage, as Elisa does, but marries nevertheless!! The man who most
occupies my thoughts in all these matters is Friesen, who worked so hard
with me at the Mexican atlas in 1807, who was so dear to me, and to whom
I was so much. I have mentioned him with tenderness in the Essai
Politique sur la Nouvelle Espagne. Had I known the beautiful work of
Miss Ludmilla, I would gladly have offered her a few lines. Her book,
however, will go through many editions. As I am unfortunately compelled
to go to Tegel for a night, I inquire, my dear friend, whether I may
call upon you at three o’clock on Friday, and whether I may hope then to
find Miss Ludmilla with you. So much skill in art and literary genius
united in one and the same person is a rare luxury. It might lead to
misfortunes. The course of the world refuses to admit of great
exceptions to its compensatory system of pleasure and sadness.
Your
A. V. HUMBOLDT.