After hesitating for a long time, and after consulting both those who had
a right to be consulted, and those whose independent judgment I could
trust, I have at last decided on publishing the following letters of Baron
Bunsen, as an appendix to my article on the Memoirs of his Life. They
will, I believe, show to the world one side of his character which in the
Memoirs could appear but incidentally,—his ardent love of the higher
studies from which his official duties were constantly tearing him away,
and his kindness, his sympathy, his condescension in his intercourse with
younger scholars who were pursuing different branches of that work to
which he himself would gladly have dedicated the whole energy of his mind.
Bunsen was by nature a scholar, though not exactly what in England is
meant by a German scholar. Scholarship with him was always a means, never
in itself an object; and the study of the languages, the laws, the
philosophies and religions of antiquity, was in his eyes but a necessary
preparation before approaching the problem of all problems, Is there a
Providence in the world, or is there not? “To trace the firm path of God
through the stream of ages,” this was the dream of his youth, and the toil
of his old age; and during all his life, whether he was studying the laws
of Rome or the hieroglyphic inscriptions of Egypt, the hymns of the Veda
or the Psalms of the Old Testament, he was always collecting materials for
that great temple which in his mind towered high above all other temples,
the temple of God in history. He was an architect, but he wanted builders;
his plans were settled, but there was no time to carry them out. He
therefore naturally looked out for younger men who were to take some share
of his work. He encouraged them, he helped them, he left them no rest till
the work which he wanted was done; and he thus exercised the most salutary
influence on a number of young scholars, both in Rome, in London, and in
Heidelberg.
When I first came to know Bunsen, he was fifty-six, I twenty-four years of
age; he was Prussian ambassador, I was nobody. But from the very beginning
of our intercourse, he was to me like a friend and fellow-student; and
when standing by his side at the desk in his library, I never saw the
ambassador, but only the hard-working scholar, ready to guide, willing to
follow, but always pressing forward to a definite goal. He would patiently
listen to every objection, and enter readily into the most complicated
questions of minute critical scholarship; but he always wanted to see
daylight; he could not bear mere groping for groping’s sake. When he
suspected any scholar of shallowness, pettiness, or professorial conceit,
he would sometimes burst forth into rage, and use language the severity of
which he was himself the first to regret. But he would never presume on
his age, his position, or his authority. In that respect few men remained
so young, remained so entirely themselves through life as Bunsen. It is
one of the saddest experiences in life to see men lose themselves when
they become ministers or judges or bishops or professors. Bunsen never
became ambassador, he always remained Bunsen. It has been my good fortune
in life to have known many men whom the world calls great,—philosophers,
statesmen, scholars, artists, poets; but take it all in all, take the full
humanity of the man, I have never seen, and I shall never see his like
again.
The rule followed in editing these letters has been a very simple one. I
have given them as they were, even though I felt that many could be of
interest to scholars only or to Bunsen’s personal friends; but I have left
out whatever could be supposed to wound the feelings of any one. Unless
this rule is most carefully observed, the publication of letters after the
death of their writers seems to me simply dishonorable. When Bunsen speaks
of public measures and public men, of parties in Church and State, whether
in England or in Germany, there was no necessity for suppressing his
remarks, for he had spoken his mind as freely on them elsewhere as in
these letters. But any personal reflections written on the spur of the
moment, in confidence or in jest, have been struck out, however strong the
temptation sometimes of leaving them. Many expressions, too, of his kind
feelings towards me have been omitted. If some have been left, I hope I
may be forgiven for a pride not altogether illegitimate.
[1.]
LONDON, _Thursday, December 7_, 1848, 9 o’clock.
MY DEAR M.,—I have this moment received your affectionate note of
yesterday, and feel as if I must respond to it directly, as one would
respond to a friend’s shake of the hand. The information was quite new to
me, and the success wholly unexpected. You have given a home to a friend
who was homeless in the world; may you also have inspired him with that
energy and stability, the want of which so evidently depresses him. The
idea about Pauli is excellent, but he must decide quickly and send me
word, that I may gain over William Hamilton, and his son (the President).
The place is much sought after; Pauli would certainly be the man for it.
He would not become a _Philister_ here, as most do.
And now, my very dear M., I congratulate you on the courageous frame of
mind which this event causes you to evince. It is exactly that which, as a
friend, I wish for you for the whole of life, and which I perceived and
loved in you from the very first moment. It delights me especially at this
time, when _your_ contemporaries are even more dark and confused than
_mine_ are sluggish and old-fashioned. The reality of life, as we enter
the period of full manhood, destroys the first dream of youth; but with
moral earnestness, and genuine faith in eternal providence, and in the
sacredness of human destiny in that government of the world which exists
for all human souls that honestly seek after good,—with these feelings,
the dream of youth is more than realized.
You have undertaken a great work, and have been rescued from the whirlpool
and landed on this peaceful island that you might carry it on undisturbed,
which you could not have done in the Fatherland. This is the first
consideration; but not less highly do I rate the circumstances which have
kept you here, and have given you an opportunity of seeing English life in
its real strength, with the consistency and stability, and with all the
energy and simplicity, that are its distinguishing features. I have known
what it is to receive this complement of German life in the years of my
training and apprenticeship. When rightly estimated, this knowledge and
love of the English element only strengthens the love of the German
Fatherland, the home of genius and poetry.
I will only add that I am longing to see you amongst us: you must come to
us before long. Meanwhile think of me with as much affection as I shall
always think of you. Lepsius has sent me his splendid work “On the
Foundations of Egyptian Chronology,” with astounding investigations.
As to Germany, my greatest hopes are based on this,—that the King and
Henry von Gagern have met and become real friends.
[2.]
_Sunday Morning, February 18, 1849._
My dear M.,—Having returned home last night, I should like to see you
quietly to-day, before the turmoil begins again to-morrow. Can you and Mr.
Trithen come to me to-day at five o’clock? I will ask Elze to dinner, but
I should first like to read to you two my treatise “On the Classification
of Languages,” which is entirely rewritten, and has become my fifth book
_in nuce_.
I will at once tell you that I am convinced that the Lycians were the
_true_ Pelasgians, and I shall not give you any rest till you have
discovered the Pelasgic language from the monuments existing here. It is a
sure discovery. It must be an older form of Greek, much as the Oscan or
the Carmen Saliare were of Latin, or even perhaps more so.
[3.]