Firmly as I had resolved to follow the counsel of Horace, and dear as
earnest labour was becoming, I still lacked method, a fixed goal towards
which to move with firm tread in the seclusion to which my sufferings
still condemned me.
I had relinquished the study of the law. It seemed more than doubtful
whether my health would ever permit me to devote myself to a practical
profession or an academic career, and my interest in jurisprudence was
too slight to have it allure me to make it the subject of theoretical
studies.
Egyptology, on the contrary, not only attracted me but permitted me to
devote my whole strength to it so far as my health would allow. True,
Champollion, the founder of this science, termed it “a beautiful
dowerless maiden,” but I could venture to woo her, and felt grateful
that, in choosing my profession, I could follow my inclination without
being forced to consider pecuniary advantages.
The province of labour was found, but with each step forward the
conviction of my utter lack of preparation for the new science grew
clearer.
Just then the kind heart of Wilhelm Grimm’s wife brought her to me with
some delicious fruit syrup made by her own hands. When I told her what
I was doing and expressed a wish to have a guide in my science, she
promised to tell “the men” at home, and within a few days after his
sister-in-law’s visit Jacob was sitting with me.
He inquired with friendly interest how my attention had been called
to Egyptology, what progress I had made, and what other sciences I was
studying.
After my reply he shook his venerable head with its long grey locks, and
said, smiling:
“You have been putting the cart before the horse. But that’s the way
with young specialists. They want to become masters in the workshops of
their sciences as a shoemaker learns to fashion boots. Other things are
of small importance to them; and yet the special discipline first gains
value in connection with the rest or the wider province of the allied
sciences. Your deciphering of hieroglyphics can only make you a
dragoman, and you must become a scholar in the higher sense, a real and
thorough one. The first step is to lay the linguistic foundation.”
This was said with the engaging yet impressively earnest frankness
characteristic of him. He himself had never investigated Egyptian
matters closely, and therefore did not seek to direct my course
minutely, but advised me, in general, never to forget that the special
science was nothing save a single chord, which could only produce its
full melody with those that belonged to the same lute.
Lepsius had a broader view than most of those engaged in so narrow a
field of study. He would speak of me to him.
The next Thursday Lepsius called on me. I know this because that day was
reserved for his subsequent visits.
After learning what progress I had made by my own industry, he told me
what to do next, and lastly promised to come again.
He had inquired about my previous education, and urged me to study
philology, archaeology, and at least one Semitic language. Later he
voluntarily informed me how much he, who had pursued philological,
archaeological, Sanscrit, and Germanistic studies, had been impeded
in his youth by having neglected the Semitic languages, which are more
nearly allied to the Egyptian. It would be necessary also for me to
understand English and Italian, since many things which the Egyptologist
ought to know were published in these languages, as well as in French.
Lastly he advised me to obtain some insight into Sanscrit, which was the
point of departure for all linguistic studies.
His requirements raised mountain after mountain in my path, but the
thought of being compelled to scale these heights not only did not repel
me, but seemed extremely attractive. I felt as if my strength increased
with the magnitude and multiplicity of the tasks imposed, and, full
of joyous excitement, I told Lepsius that I was ready to fulfil his
requirements in every detail.
We now discussed in what sequence and manner I should go to work, and to
this day I admire the composure, penetration, and lucidity with which he
sketched a plan of study that covered years.
I have reason to be grateful to this great scholar for the introduction
to my special science, but still more for the wisdom with which he
pointed out the direction of my studies. Like Jacob Grimm, he compelled
me, as an Egyptologist, to remain in connection with the kindred
departments.
Later my own experience was to teach me the correctness of his assertion
that it would be a mistake to commence by studying so restricted a
science as Egyptology.
My pupils can bear witness that during my long period of teaching I
always strove to urge students who intended to devote themselves to
Egyptology first to strengthen the foundations, without which the
special structure lacks support.
Lepsius’s plan of instruction provided that I should follow these
principles from the beginning. The task I had to perform was a great
and difficult one. How infinitely easier it was for those whom I had the
privilege of introducing to this science! The lecture-rooms of famous
teachers stood open to them, while my physical condition kept me for
weeks from the university; and how scanty were the aids to which the
student could turn! Yet the zeal--nay, the enthusiasm--with which
I devoted myself to the study was so great that it conquered every
difficulty.
[I had no dictionary and no grammar for the hieroglyphic language
save Champollion’s. No Stern had treated Coptic in a really
scientific manner. I was obliged to learn it according to Tuki,
Peyron, Tattam, and Steinthal-Schwarze. For the hieratic there was
no aid save my own industry and the lists I had myself compiled from
the scanty texts then at the disposal of the student. Lepsius had
never devoted much time to them. Brugsch’s demotic grammar had
appeared, but its use was rendered very difficult by the lack of
conformity between the type and the actual signs.]
When I recall the amount of knowledge I mastered in a few terms it seems
incredible; yet my labour was interrupted every summer by a sojourn at
the springs--once three months, and never for a less period than six
weeks. True, I was never wholly idle while using the waters, but, on
the other hand, I was obliged to consider the danger that in winter
constantly threatened my health. All night-work was strictly forbidden
and, if I sat too long over my books by day, my mother reminded me of my
promise to the doctor, and I was obliged to stop.
During the first years I worked almost exclusively at home, for I was
permitted to go out only in very pleasant weather.
Dr. Romberg had wisely considered my reluctance to interrupt my studies
by a residence in the south, because he deemed life in a well-ordered
household more beneficial to sufferers from spinal diseases than a
warmer climate, when leaving home, as in my case, threatened to disturb
the patient’s peace of mind.
For three winters I had been denied visiting the university, the museum,
and the libraries. On the fourth I was permitted to begin, and now,
with mature judgment and thorough previous preparation, I attended the
academic lectures, and profited by the treasures of knowledge and rich
collections of the capital.
After my return from Wildbad Lepsius continued his Thursday visits, and
during the succeeding winters still remained my guide, even when I had
also placed myself, in the department of the ancient Egyptian languages,
under the instruction of Heinrich Brugsch.
At school, of course, I had not thought of studying Hebrew. Now I took
private lessons in that language, to which I devoted several hours
daily. I had learned to read Sanscrit and to translate easy passages in
the chrestomathy, and devoted myself with special zeal to the study of
the Latin grammar and prosody. Professor Julius Geppert, the brother of
our most intimate family friend, was my teacher for four terms.
The syntax of the classic languages, which had been my weak point as
a school-boy, now aroused the deepest interest, and I was grateful to
Lepsius for having so earnestly insisted upon my pursuing philology. I
soon felt the warmest appreciation of the Roman comedies, which served
as the foundation of these studies. What sound wit, what keenness of
observation, what a happy gift of invention, the old comic writers had
at their disposal! I took them up again a few years ago, after reading
with genuine pleasure in Otto Ribbeck’s masterpiece, The History of
Roman Poetry, the portions devoted to Plautus and Terence.
The types of character found in these comedies strengthened my
conviction that the motives of human actions and the mental and
emotional peculiarities of civilized men in every age always have been
and always will be the same.
With what pleasure, when again permitted to go out in the evening,
I witnessed the performances of Plautus’s pieces given by Professor
Geppert’s pupils!
The refreshed and enlarged knowledge of school Latin was of great
service in writing, and afterwards discussing, a Latin dissertation. I
devoted perhaps a still larger share of my time to Greek, and, as the
fruit of these studies, still possess many translations from Anacreon,
Sappho, and numerous fragments from the Bergk collection of Greek
lyrics, but, with the exception of those introduced into my novels, none
have been printed.
During my leisure hours translating afforded me special pleasure. An
exact rendering of difficult English authors soon made Shakespeare’s
language in both prose and poetry as intelligible as German or French.
After mastering the rules of grammar, I needed no teacher except my
mother. When I had conquered the first difficulties I took up Tennyson’s
Idyls of the King, and at last succeeded in translating two of these
beautiful poems in the metre of the original.
My success with Enid I think was very tolerable. The manuscript still
lies in my desk unpublished.
As I was now engaged in studying the languages I easily learned to read
Italian, Spanish, and Dutch books.
In view of this experience, which is not wholly personal, I have
wondered whether the instruction of boys might not be shortened to
give them more outdoor exercise. In how brief a time the pupils, as men
studying for their own benefit, not the teacher’s, would acquire many
things! Besides the languages, I studied, at first exclusively under
Lepsius’s thoroughly admirable instruction, ancient history and
archeology.
Later I owed most to Gerhard, Droysen, Friederichs, and August Bockh.
A kind fate afterwards brought me into personal relations with the
latter, whose lectures on the Athenian financial system were the finest
and the most instructive I have ever heard. What clearness, what
depth of learning, what a subtle sense of humour this splendid old man
possessed! I attended his lectures in 1863, and how exquisite were the
allusions to the by no means satisfactory political conditions of the
times with which he spiced them. I also became sincerely attached to
Friederichs, and it made me happy to be able to requite him in some
small degree in Egypt for the kindness and unselfishness he had shown me
in Berlin.
Bopp’s lectures, where I tried to increase my meagre knowledge of
Sanscrit, I attended, unfortunately, only a few hours.
The lectures of the African traveller Heinrich Earth supplied rich
sources of material, but whoever expected to hear bewitching narratives
from him would have been disappointed. Even in more intimate intercourse
he rarely warmed up sufficiently to let others share the rich treasure
of his knowledge and experience. It seemed as if, during his lonely life
in Africa, he had lost the necessity of exchanging thoughts with his
fellow-men. During this late period Heinrich Brugsch developed in the
linguistic department of Egyptology what I had gained from Lepsius and
by my own industry, and I gladly term myself his pupil.
I have cause to be grateful for the fresh and helpful way in which this
great and tireless investigator gave me a private lecture; but Lepsius
had opened the door of our science, and though he could carry me only
to a certain stage in the grammar of the ancient Egyptians, in other
departments I owe him more than any other of my intellectual guides.
I am most indebted to him for the direction to use historical and
archaeological authorities critically, and his correction of the tasks
he set me; but our conversations on archaeological subjects have also
been of the greatest interest.
After his death I tried to return in some small degree what his
unselfish kindness had bestowed by accepting the invitation to become
his biographer. In “Richard Lepsius,” I describe reverently but without
deviating one step from the truth, this wonderful scholar, who was a
faithful and always affectionate friend.
I can scarcely believe it possible that the dignified man, with the
grave, stern, clear-cut, scholarly face and snow-white hair, was but
forty-five years old when he began to direct my studies; for, spite of
his erect bearing and alert, movements, he seemed to me at that time a
venerable old man. There was something in the aristocratic reserve of
his nature and the cool, penetrating sharpness of his criticism,
which is usually found only in men of more mature years. I should have
supposed him incapable of any heedless word, any warm emotion, until
I afterwards met him under his own roof and enjoyed the warm-hearted
cheerfulness of the father of the family and the graciousness of the
host.
It certainly was not the cool, calculating reason, but the heart, which
had urged him to devote so many hours of his precious time to the young
follower of his science.
Heinrich Brugsch, my second teacher, was far superior to Lepsius as
a decipherer and investigator of the various stages of the ancient
Egyptian languages. Two natures more totally unlike can scarcely be
imagined.
Brugsch was a man of impulse, who maintained his cheerfulness even when
life showed him its serious side. Then, as now, he devoted himself with
tireless energy to hard work. In this respect he resembled Lepsius, with
whom he had other traits in common-first, a keen sense of order in the
collection and arrangement of the abundant store of scientific material
at his disposal; and, secondly, the circumstance that Alexander von
Humboldt had smoothed the beginning of the career of investigation for
both. The attention of this great scholar and influential man had been
attracted by Brugsch’s first Egyptological works, which he had commenced
before he left school, and his keen eye recognized their value as
well as the genius of their author. As soon as he began to win renown
Humboldt extended his powerful protection to him, and induced his
friend, the king, to afford him means for continuing his education in
Paris and for a journey to Europe.
Though it was Bunsen who first induced Lepsius to devote himself to
Egyptology, that he might systematize the science and prune with the
knife of philological and historical criticism the shoots which grew
so wildly after Champollion’s death, Humboldt had opened the paths to
learning which in Paris were closed to the foreigner.
Finally, it was the great naturalist who had lent the aid of his
powerful influence with Frederick William IV to the enterprise supported
by Bunsen of an expedition to Egypt under the direction of Lepsius. But
for the help of the most influential man of his day it would have been
difficult--nay, perhaps impossible--to obtain for themselves and
German investigation the position which, thanks to their labour, it now
occupies.
I had the privilege of meeting Alexander von Humboldt at a small dinner
party, and his image is vividly imprinted on my memory. He was at that
time far beyond the span of life usually allotted to man, and what
I heard him say was hardly worth retaining, for it related to the
pleasures of the table, ladies’ toilettes, court gossip, etc. When he
afterwards gave me his hand I noticed the numerous blue veins which
covered it like a network. It was not until later that I learned how
many important enterprises that delicate hand had aided.
Heinrich Brugsch is still pursuing with fresh creative power the
profession of Egyptological research. The noble, simple-hearted woman
who was so proud of her son’s increasing renown, his mother, died long
ago. She modestly admired his greatness, yet his shrewdness, capacity
for work, and happy nature were a heritage from her.
Heinrich Brugsch’s instruction extended beyond the actual period of
teaching.
With the commencement of convalescence and the purposeful industry which
then began, a time of happiness dawned for me. The mental calmness felt
by every one who, secluded from the tumult of the world, as I was at
that time, devotes himself to the faithful fulfilment of duty, rendered
it comparatively easy for me to accommodate myself patiently to a
condition which a short time before would have seemed insupportable.
True, I was forced to dispense with the companionship of gay associates
of my own age. At first many members of my old corps, who were studying
in Berlin, sought me, but gradually their places were filled by other
friends.
The dearest of these was Dr. Adolf Baeyer, son of the General. He is
now one of the leaders in his chosen science, chemistry, and is Justus
Liebig’s successor in the Munich University.
My second friend was a young Pole who devoted himself eagerly to
Egyptology, and whom Lepsius had introduced as a professional comrade.
He called me Georg and I him Mieczy (his name was Mieczyslaw).
So, during those hard winters, I did not lack friendship. But they also
wove into my life something else which lends their memory a melancholy
charm.
The second daughter of my mother’s Belgian niece, who had married in
Berlin the architect Fritz Hitzig, afterwards President of the Academy
of Arts, was named Eugenie and nicknamed “Nenny.”
If ever any woman fulfilled the demands of the fairy tale, “White
as snow and black as ebony,” it was she. Only the “red as blood” was
lacking, for usually but a faint roseate hue tinged her cheeks. Her
large blue eyes had an innocent, dreamy, half-melancholy expression,
which I was not the only person who found unspeakably charming.
Afterwards it seemed to me, in recalling her look, that she beheld the
fair boy Death, whose lowered torch she was so soon to follow.
About the time that I returned to Berlin seriously ill she had just left
boarding-school, and it is difficult to describe the impression she made
when I saw her for the first time; yet I found in the opening rose all
that had lent the bud so great a charm.
I am not writing a romance, and shall not permit the heart to beautify
or transfigure the image memory retains, yet I can assert that
Nenny lacked nothing which art and poesy attribute to the women who
allegorically personate the magic of Nature or the fairest emotions and
ideals of the human soul. In this guise poet, sculptor, or artist might
have represented Imagination, the Fairy Tale, Lyric Poetry, the Dream,
or Compassion.
The wealth of raven hair, the delicate lines of the profile, the scarlet
lips, the pearly teeth, the large, long-lashed blue eyes, whose colour
formed a startling contrast to the dark hair, the slender little hands
and dainty feet, united to form a beauty whose equal Nature rarely
produces. And this fair body contained a tender, loving, pure, childlike
heart, which longed for higher gifts than human life can bestow.
Thus she appeared before me like an apparition from a world opened
only to the poet. She came often, for she loved my mother, and rarely
approached my couch without a flower, a picture which pleased her, or a
book containing a poem which she valued.
When she entered I felt as if happiness came with her. Doubtless my eyes
betrayed this distinctly enough, though I forced my lips to silence; for
what love had she, before whom life was opening like a path through
a blooming garden, to bestow on the invalid cousin who was probably
destined to an early death, and certainly to many a year of illness? At
our first meeting I felt that I loved her, but for that very reason I
desired to conceal it.
I had grown modest. It was enough for me to gaze at her, hear her dear
voice, and sometimes--she was my cousin--clasp her little hand.
Science was now the object of my devotion. My intellect, passion, and
fire were all hers. A kind fortune seemed to send me Nenny in order to
bestow a gift also upon the heart, the soul, the sense of beauty.
This state of affairs could not last; for no duty commanded her to share
the conflict raging within me, and a day came when I learned from her
own lips that she loved me, that her heart had been mine when she was
a little school-girl, that during my illness she had never wearied of
praying for me, and had wept all night long when the physician told her
mother of the danger in which I stood.
This confession sounded like angel voices. It made me infinitely happy,
yet I had strength to entreat Nenny to treasure this blissful hour with
me as the fairest jewel of our lives, and then help me to fulfil the
duty of parting from her.
But she took a different view of the future. It was enough for her to
know that my heart was hers. If I died young, she would follow me.
And now the devout child, who firmly believed in a meeting after death
face to face, permitted me a glimpse of the wondrous world in which she
hoped to have her portion after the end here.
I listened in astonishment, with sincere emotion. This was the faith
which moved mountains, which brings heaven itself to earth.
Afterwards I again beheld the eyes with which, gazing into vacancy, she
tried to conjure up before my soul these visions of hope from the realm
of her fairest dreams--they were those of Raphael’s Saint Cecilia in
Bologna and Munich. I also saw them long after Nenny’s death in one of
Murillo’s Madonnas in Seville, and even now they rise distinctly before
my memory.
To disturb this childish faith or check the imagination winged by this
devout enthusiasm would have seemed to me actually criminal. And I
was young. Even the suffering I had endured had neither silenced the
yearning voice of my heart nor cooled the warmth of my blood. I, who
had believed that the garden of love was forever closed against me, was
beloved by the most beautiful girl, who was even dearer to me than life,
and with new hope, which Nenny’s faith in God’s goodness bedewed with
warm spring rain, I enjoyed this happiness.
Yet conscience could not be silenced. The warning voice of my mother, to
whom I had opened my heart, sharpened the admonitions of mine; and when
Wildbad brought me only relief, by no means complete recovery, I left
the decision to the physician. It was strongly adverse. Under the most
favourable circumstances years must pass ere I should be justified in
binding any woman’s fate to mine.
So this beginning of a beautiful and serious love story became a swiftly
passing dream. Its course had been happy, but the end dealt my heart
a blow which healed very slowly. It opened afresh when in her parents’
house, where during my convalescence I was a frequent guest, I myself
advised her to marry a young land-owner, who eagerly wooed her. She
became his wife, but only a year later entered that other world which
she had regarded as her true home even while here. Her beloved image
occupies the most sacred place in the shrine of my memory.
I denied myself the pleasure of introducing her character in one of my
novels, for I felt that if I should succeed in limning it faithfully the
modern reader would be justified in considering her an impossible figure
for our days. She would perhaps have suited a fairy tale; and when I
created Bianca in The Elixir I gave her Nenny’s form. The gratitude
which I owe her will accompany me to my life’s end, for it was she who
brought to my sick-room the blue sky, sunlight, and the thousand gifts
of a blooming Garden of Eden.