Varnhagen’s diary of July 4, 1857, contains the following: “Yesterday
Humboldt spoke of the time when he lived in a house at the side of
George’s Garden, and was so assiduous in his magnetic observations that
he once stinted himself of sleep for seven successive days and nights in
order to examine the state of things every half hour; after that he
changed the watch with substitutes. This was in 1807, just fifty years
ago. I often saw the little house in which the experiments were made,
when I visited Johannes von Mueller, who also lived in a house at the
side of the same garden; or Fichte who lived in a garden house in the
middle of the garden. When old George, a wealthy distiller, showed the
garden to his friends, Humboldt went on to say, he never failed to boast
of ‘his learned men.’ ‘Here I have the famous Mueller; there is
Humboldt, and there is Fichte, but he is only a philosopher, I
believe.’”
214.
HUMBOLDT TO VARNHAGEN.
BERLIN, _July 6th, 1857_.
So ignorant of German poetry as to know nothing of the fame of Mr. —— of
what he calls the dreary Mecklenburg, I must ask you, my dear friend, to
specify the degree of politeness with which the man ought to be
answered. Eight volumes, a compensation of forty louis d’or, four for
myself, four, as usual, for the King, and a nonsensical letter, are
before me. The man appears to have sung of the great Napoleon and Ney,
but to have vainly knocked at the door of Napoleon III., Stephanie,
Walewski, and Edgar Ney. It is made my duty forthwith to read a Trajan,
a Bianca, and a Henry IV. Neither does he seem to have an extravagant
idea of what is to be obtained from the King, a circumstance which
discourages me from delivering the treasure. Elisa von Ahlefeldt has
given great pleasure in Tegel, where I went with Kaulbach yesterday, as
delicate and pure in taste. Not in Tegel but in Berlin, some court
chaplains or officers, anxious to acquire the title of consistorial
councillors, may have mooted the ecclesiastical question, whether a
husband and a friend are both allowable? The Berliners manage to talk
about and to soil whatever comes into their fingers.
Most gratefully fully yours,
A. V. HUMBOLDT.