they like to show this old piece of furniture of theirs. So I go
whenever they want me.” He went on to say how busy he was with his
“Kosmos,” and how he could no longer work so many hours as in former
years. “As I get old,” he said, “I want more sleep, four hours at least.
When I was young,” he continued, “two hours of sleep were quite enough
for me.” I ventured to express my doubts, apologising for differing from
him on any physiological fact. “It is quite a mistake,” he said, “though
it is very widely spread, that we want seven or eight hours of sleep.
When I was your age, I simply lay down on the sofa, turned down my lamp,
and after two hours’ sleep I was as fresh as ever.”
“Then,” I said, “your Excellency’s life has been double the life of
other people, and this accounts for the immense amount of work you have
been able to achieve.” Humboldt was never married and, I was told, had
never been in love. But I did not tell him what was in my mind, that
under such circumstances his life had really been four times that of
ordinary mortals.
“Yes,” he said, “I have had a long span of life to work, but I have also
been very much helped by my friends and colleagues. I know,” he
continued, “I have been abused for not building my own stoves for making
chemical experiments; but a general, in order to make great conquests,
must have colonels, captains, lieutenants, and even privates under him.”
And those who served under him and assisted him had certainly no cause
to regret it. He helped them whenever he could, and his influence at
that time was very great. To be mentioned in a note in his “Kosmos” was
for a scholar what it was for a Greek city to be mentioned in the
catalogue of ships in the “Iliad.” I could not resist telling him in
strict confidence my little adventure with the police lieutenant, and he
was highly amused. I hope he did not tell the King; anyhow, no names
were mentioned and the poor lieutenant of police, who, of course, had
only done what he was told, may, long ago I hope, have become a
president of police, or some “grosses Thier.” When I left Humboldt I
felt I should not see him again, and the old man was moved as much as I
was in saying good-bye. These old heroes had very large and tender
hearts. After all, I was only one out of hundreds of young men in whom
he took an interest, and I happen to know that his interest was not only
in words, but in deeds also. He was by no means what we should call a
rich man, but I know that he sent young Brugsch, afterwards the great
Egyptian scholar, Brugsch Pasha, a handsome sum of money to enable him
to finish his studies at the University of Berlin, though no one at the
time heard anything about it.
I did not see Humboldt again, nor Frederick William IV. Long before this
time it had become clear that King William IV. was not what he imagined
himself to be—the congruence of all the incongruent elements then
fermenting in Prussia and Germany at large. There can be little doubt
that towards the end of his life his mind, or rather his judgment, had
given way. His mind, I believe, remained lively to the very end; but, in
a State like Prussia, the Government without a clear-sighted King is
like a runaway engine without its driver. It may keep to the rails for a
time, but there is sure to be a smash at the end. The King had parted
with one friend after another. His own brother, the Prince of Prussia,
afterwards the first German Emperor, fell into disgrace, and had in the
end to leave the country and take refuge in England. The name by which
he was known in the family was not flattering. He was a soldier,
clear-headed and straightforward. His whole heart was in the army, and
when he afterwards came to the throne, he wisely left everything else to
his responsible ministers, after he had once learnt to trust them. The
army was the pride of his life, and to see that army ordered out of
Berlin, and not allowed to restore order in the streets of the capital,
had nearly broken his heart. He was intensely unpopular in 1848. His own
palace was taken possession of, and, in order to preserve it from
pillage, a large inscription was put on the walls, “National Property.”
I was not in Germany that year, but I heard much from my friends
there—v. Schlœzer, Ernst Curtius, and others—all personal friends of the
Prince and Princess of Prussia. The Prince was not even allowed to
command his own, the Prussian army, in the Schleswig-Holstein war, then
just beginning; and the following letter, written in London, and
addressed to one of his comrades, shows how deeply he felt it:—
Mit welchen Gefühlen habe ich gestern Euren Sieg bei Schleswig
vernommen!!! Gott sei Dank dass unser alter Waffenruhm auch gegen
einen ehrlichen Feind sich bewährt hat! Sage doch Deinen Untergebenen,
wie glücklich ich wäre über diese Siegesnachricht: wie der Geist, der
Euch zum Siege führte, der alte preussische war, der vor nichts
zurückschreckt. Wie beneide ich Dir das Glück, diese Lorbeeren
geerntet zu haben. Du weisst, wie nahe es daran war, dass ich sie mit
Dir hätte theilen können. Wie wären dabei alle meine Wünsche in
Erfüllung gegangen: Truppen meiner beiden lieben Corps geführt zu
haben, im Ernst - Kampfe!—Es sollte nicht sein!—Aber ich kann es nicht
verschmerzen, da die Möglichkeit vorhanden war! Nun, Gott wird es doch
wohl noch einst so fügen, dem wir ja Alles anheim stellen müssen. Wer
kann und muss es wohl mit mehr Resignation als ich! Er prüft mich
schwer, aber mit einem reinen Gewissen erwarte ich den Tag der
Wahrheit, damit ich dem neuen Preussen meine Kräfte widmen kann, wie
dem alten, wenngleich das Herz trauern muss, über den Fall des alten
Preussen, des Selbständigen. Lebe wohl! Gott schütze Dich ferner und
erhalte Dich den Deinen, die sehr besorgt sein müssen. Ich kenne die
Verluste noch nicht, mir bangt etwas vor ihnen.
Ewig Dein treuer Freund,
WILHELM.
LONDON, d. 29. 4. 48.
I was at that time in London, and often with Bunsen at the Prussian
Legation in Carlton House Terrace. There was a constant succession of
couriers bringing letters from Berlin. On one occasion a sub-editor from
_The Times_ office rushed in and said: “Well, another one is gone, the
King of Bavaria!” He did not see that the Bavarian minister, Baron
Cetto, was in the room, and thus received this very informal
notification of his sovereign’s fate. It was known that the King had
remained at his palace, but that the Prince of Prussia had left Berlin.
For several days no one knew where he was. I was quietly sitting on the
sofa with Bunsen (27th March, 1848, 8 A.M.) discussing some question of
Vedic mythology, when a servant came in and whispered something in
Bunsen’s ear. Bunsen rose, took me by the arm and said: “Make haste, run
away.” I did so, and as I ran out of the door I rushed against the
Prince of Prussia. I hardly knew him at first, for he was not in
uniform, and had no moustache. In fact, I saw him as few people have
ever seen him. He stayed in London for many weeks at the Prussian
Legation, where I met him several times, and, honest and hardworking as
he was all through life, he did not waste the time in Bunsen’s house,
nor did Bunsen lose the opportunity of showing the Prince how well a
free and popular form of government could be carried on with due respect
for order and law, and with love and devotion to the throne. This London
episode of the Prince’s life has borne ample fruit in the hey-dey of the
German Empire, and he by whom the seed was sown has but seldom been
remembered, or thanked for the good work he did then for his sovereign
and for his country.
There was no sovereign more constitutional than the King of Prussia at
the beginning of his reign. He surrounded himself with enlightened and
liberal-minded ministers, and never interfered with their work. Having
been brought up to look upon his brother as a great genius, he was very
humble about his own qualifications, and he even thought for a time of
abdicating in favour of his son. This, however, would not have suited
Bismarck’s hand. When the Prince of Prussia came to the throne, he
stipulated one thing only with his ministers: they must give him a free
hand to strengthen the army; for all the rest he would follow their
advice. And so he did for several years. But when they failed to keep
their promise, and to get Parliament to pass the necessary military
budget, he parted with them and invited Bismarck to form a new ministry
in 1862. This was the beginning of the political drama which ended at
Sedan, if indeed it ended then.
I had heard much from my friends Roggenbach, Schlœzer, and E. Curtius
about the Princess of Prussia (afterwards the Queen of Prussia, and the
first German Empress), and my expectations were not deceived when I was
presented to her during her stay in England in the spring of 1851. She
was _grand’ dame_, highly gifted, highly cultivated. She wanted to see
everything and know everybody worth knowing in England. It was she who
went to Eton to see a cricket match played. She had heard much about it,
and was most anxious to watch it. After the game had been going on for a
good quarter of an hour, she turned impatiently to the Provost, and
asked: “When are the boys going to begin?” She had evidently expected
some kind of fight or skirmish, and was rather disappointed at the quiet
and business-like way in which the boys, who were on their best
behaviour, threw the ball and hit it back. However, at that time
everything English, even the games, was perfect in the eyes of the
Germans, and nothing more perfect than the Princess Royal, when she had
been won by the young Prince of Prussia in 1857. The Princess of Prussia
never forgot people whom she had once taken an interest in, and I had
several interesting interviews with her later on—at Coblentz in 1863, at
Baden in 1872. I confess I was somewhat taken aback when, after dinner,
the Empress took me by the hand, and stepped forward, addressing the
whole company present, and giving the ladies and gentlemen a full
account of what this Oxford professor had done for Germany during the
Franco-German war by defending their cause in _The Times_. All I could
reply was that I had done little enough, and that I could not help
saying what I had said in _The Times_, and that I was proud of having
been well abused for having spoken the truth.
Whatever disappointments she may have had in life, she lived long enough
to see the fulfilment of her patriotic dreams; she wore the Imperial
crown of Germany, and she saw in the Crown Prince Frederick the
fulfilment of all that a mother can dream of for her son. One wishes
that she had died a year sooner, so as to be spared the terrible tragedy
of her son’s illness and death in 1888.
That son, our _Princeps juventutis_, had been educated by my friend
Ernst Curtius, and was on most friendly terms with many of my German
friends. I made his acquaintance when he came to Oxford as a very young
man in 1857. He brought George Bunsen and two friends with him, and I
took rooms for them at the Angel Hotel, which stood where the
Examination School, the so-called Chamber of Horrors, now stands. For
several days I took the Prince to all the Colleges and to some of the
lectures, even to one of the public examinations. No one knew him, and
we preserved the strictest _incognito_. He quickly perceived the
advantages of the English university system, particularly of the college
life and the tutorial teaching. But he saw that it would be hopeless to
attempt to introduce that system into Germany. Though at that time
everything English was admired in Germany, he was clear-sighted enough
to see that it is better to learn than simply to copy. The weak point in
the German university system is that, unless an undergraduate is
personally known to a professor, he receives very little guidance. He
generally arrives from school, where he has been under very strict
guidance, without any choice as to what he really wishes to learn. He
then suddenly finds himself independent, and free to choose from an
immense _menu_ (_Index lectionum_) whatever tempts his appetite. Most
German students, when they leave school, have not only a natural
curiosity, but a real thirst for learning. They have also a feeling of
great reverence for the professors, particularly for the most famous
professors in each university. They often select their university in
order to hear the lectures of a certain professor, and if he is moved to
another university they migrate with him. In the strictly professional
faculties of medicine, law, and theology, there is no doubt a certain
routine, and students know by a kind of tradition what lectures they
should attend in each semester. But in the philosophical faculty there
is little, if any, tradition, and looking at my book of lectures,
attested by the various professors at Leipzig, I am perfectly amazed at
the variety of incongruous subjects on which I attended professorial
classes. Unless they were all properly entered and attested in my book I
could not believe that at that time (1840–41), when I was only seventeen
years of age, I had really attended lectures on so many heterogeneous
subjects. In this respect, in preventing waste, the college or tutorial
system has, no doubt, many advantages, but the young Prince saw very
clearly that what is called in Germany academic freedom cannot be
touched, that the universities could not be changed into schools, if for
no other reason, because it would be impossible to find the necessary
funds to inaugurate the college system by the side of the professorial
system. All that could possibly be done would be to establish a closer
relation between professors and undergraduates, to increase, in fact,
the number of seminaries and societies, and to make it obligatory on
each professor to have some personal intercourse with the students who
attend his lectures.
The Prince’s _incognito_ was carefully preserved at Oxford, though it
was not always easy to persuade his attendants not to bow and take off
their hats whenever they met the Prince. The very last day, however, and
just before I asked for the bill at the hotel, one of his A.D.C.’s
forgot himself, bowed very low before the door of the hotel, and stood
bareheaded before the Prince. The hotel-keeper smiled and came to me
with a very knowing look, telling me of the discovery he had made. He
was very proud of his perspicacity; but I am sorry to say that the
discovery had its painful influence on the bill also, which, under the
circumstances, could not be helped.
What struck the Prince most at Oxford was the historical continuity of
the University. I reminded him of the remark which Frederick William IV.
made when at Oxford:—
“Gentlemen,” he said, “in your University everything that is young is
old, everything that is old is young.” “We cannot do everything,” the
Prince used to say, “but we shall do our best in Germany.” Though the
Prince was still very young, he could at times be very serious. There
had actually been rumours, as I have said before, that his father,
always one of the most humble-minded men, would abdicate in favour of
his son, who was very popular, while the father at one time was not, and
the thought that he might soon be called upon to rule the destinies of
Prussia and of Germany was evidently not unfamiliar to him. How
different was his destiny to be! What terrible events had happened
before I saw much of the Prince again; for though I saw him in his own
happy home life at the Neue Palais at Potsdam in 1863, it was not until
after the Prusso-Austrian and Franco-German wars that I had again some
real personal intercourse with the Prince at Ems in the year 1871. He
had sent me a very kind letter immediately after his return to Berlin
from Paris. Even Bismarck had sent me a message through his private
secretary that he was proud of his new ally. I had defended the policy
of the German Emperor in _The Times_, simply because I could not keep
silent when the policy of Germany was misrepresented to the people of
England.
Here is the Prince’s letter, which I received in May, 1871:—
BERLIN, _Mai 1871_.
Ich habe mit aufrichtigem Danke und ganz besonderem Interesse Ihre
“Letters on the War” entgegengenommen, welche Sie die Freundlichkeit
hatten, mir zu übersenden.
Mit der einmüthigen Hingebung unseres Volkes während der grossen Zeit
die wir durchkämpft, steht im schönsten Einklang die patriotische
Haltung welche unsere deutschen Brüder, oft unter den schwierigsten
Verhältnissen und mit Opfer aller Art bewährt und durch die sie sich
für immer einen Anspruch auf die Dankbarkeit des Vaterlandes erworben
haben.
Dass die Erfahrungen, welche die Deutschen in England während unseres
ruhmvollen Krieges gemacht, nicht immer erfreulich waren, ist mir
freilich bekannt, Gründe der verschiedensten Art kamen zusammen um
eine Verstimmung zu erzeugen, die hüben und drüben von allen
einsichtigen und patriotischen Männern gleich schmerzlich empfunden
ist.
Meine feste und zuversichtliche Hoffnung bleibt es aber dass dieselbe
bald jenem herzlichen Einvernehmen wieder Platz machen wird, welches
die Natur unserer gegenseitigen Beziehungen und Interessen verlangt.
Dieses Ziel wollen wir verfolgen, unbeirrt durch Aufregungen und
Eindrücke des Augenblicks, überzeugt, dass es für das Gedeihen beider
Länder ebenso heilsam wie für den Frieden Europa’s unerlässlich ist.
Sie haben Ihrerseits niemals aufgehört in diesem Geiste thätig zu sein
und es ist mir deshalb Bedürfniss, Ihnen meine dankbare Anerkennung
für Ihr erfolgreiches Wirken hierdurch auszusprechen.
Ihr wohlgeneigter
FRIEDRICH WILHELM.
At Ems the Prince was the popular hero of the day, and wherever he
showed himself he was enthusiastically greeted by the people. He sent me
word that he wished to see me. When I arrived the antechambers were
crowded with Highnesses, Excellencies, Generals, all covered with stars
and ribands. I gave my card to an A. D. C. as simple Max Müller, and was
told that I must wait, but I soon saw there was not the slightest chance
of my having an audience that morning. I had no uniform, no order, no
title. From time to time an officer called the name of Prince So-and-So,
Count So-and-So, and people became very impatient. Suddenly the Prince
himself opened the door, and called out in a loud voice, “Maximiliane,
Maximiliane, kommen Sie herein!”
There was consternation in the crowd as I walked through, but I had a
most pleasant half-hour with the Prince. Once when I began to bubble
over and tried to express, as well as I could, my admiration for his
splendid achievements in the war, he turned away rather angrily, and
said, “Na, sind Sie denn auch unter die Schmeichler gegangen!” I wrote a
sonnet at the time, which I find among my old papers:—
IN EMS AM 19. JULI 1871.
DEM KRONPRINZEN VON DEUTSCHLAND.
Wie jungen Most von altem Holz umschlungen
Fühlt ich mein Blut, das sich im Herzen rührte,
Als es den Druck der Heldenhand verspürte,
Die Deutschlands Schwert so ritterlich geschwungen.
Oft hört ich’s schon gesagt und auch gesungen,
Wie Dich dein Stern von Sieg zu Siege führte,
Doch fühlt ich nie, wie sich’s für Dich gebührte,
Das Herz so ganz von Lieb und Stolz durchdrungen.
Einst sah ich in der Jugend schönen Hüllung
In Dir die Zukunft Deutschlands sich entfalten,
Die neue Zeit erstehen aus der alten:—
Heut stand vor mir die herrlichste Erfüllung—
Ein deutscher Fürst, das Aug’ vol Treu und Adel,
Ein ganzer Mann, Held ohne Furcht und Tadel.
This was followed by another sonnet at the time of his death:—
DEM KAISER FRIEDRICH—1888.
Wir warteten im Stillen lange Jahre,
Und nimmer wankte unsres Herzens Glaube;
Wir sah’n im dunklen Grün die reiche Traube,
Und wussten, welchen Saft sie uns bewahre.
Und jetzt! O klaget nicht an seiner Bahre,
Wenn auch der Leib zerfällt zum Erdenstaube,
Nie werde das dem blinden Tod zum Raube,
Was er gewollt das Hohe, Schöne, Wahre!
Dem edlen Geiste woll’n wir Treue halten,
In stillem Dulden wie in kühnem Wagen;
Wir ehren ihn durch Thaten, nicht durch Klagen,
Und lassen unsre Liebe nie erkalten:
Was wir verloren, kann kein Blick ermessen,
Was wir gehabt, das bleibe unvergessen.
The old Emperor was at Ems at the same time, and so was the Emperor
Alexander of Russia. It was a surprise to me to see these two Emperors
walking together in the crowd, and fetching their glass of water at the
spring, apparently without any protection. The people did not much crowd
round them, but neither were they kept back by the police officers. I
asked one of the higher officials how they managed to keep out any
dangerous Poles or Frenchmen, who might have shot the two Emperors with
a double-barrelled pistol at any moment. The place was swarming with
people of every nationality; but he said that there was no one at Ems
who was not known. I confess it was a riddle to me. The good old
Emperor, who had heard of my presence, asked me to dine, and he also
thanked me for my advocacy of Germany in _The Times_. What a change
since I ran against him in Bunsen’s room! Abeken, who during the war had
been Bismarck’s right hand, was there, and I learnt from him that the
famous Ems telegram had been written by him, though, of course, inspired
and approved of by Bismarck. This is now well known, and has become
ancient history. Great as was the enthusiasm at Ems, it was
heart-breaking to see the invalided soldiers, looking young and
vigorous, but without arms or legs, their only wish being to catch a
glimpse of the Emperor or the Crown Prince. Some of them had been
blinded in the war; others walked about on crutches, some with both arms
cut off, and using iron forks instead of hands and fingers. All was done
that could be done for them, and the Emperor and the Crown Prince shook
hands with as many of them, officers or privates, as they could. The
Crown Prince had sent me word that he wished to see me once more; but
his surroundings evidently thought that I had been favoured quite
enough, and our meeting again was cleverly prevented. No doubt princes
must be protected against intruders, but should they be thwarted in
their own wishes? I had another happy glimpse, however, of the Crown
Prince in his family circle, in 1876.
In the year 1879 the Crown Prince came once more to Oxford, this time
with his young son, the present German Emperor, and accompanied by the
Prince of Wales. He had not forgotten his former visit, when he was not
much older than his son was then, and he reminded me of what had
happened to us in the Examination Schools on his former visit. The
Prince had preserved the strictest _incognito_, but when we entered the
schools his appearance, and that of several foreign-looking gentlemen,
had attracted some attention. However, we sat down and listened to the
examination. It was in Divinity, and one of the young men had to
translate a chapter in the Gospel of St. John. He translated very badly,
and the Prince, not accustomed to the English pronunciation of Greek,
could not follow. Suddenly there was a burst of laughter. The Prince did
not perceive that it was due to a really atrocious mistranslation. He
turned to me and said: “Let us go; they are laughing at us.” When we
were outside I explained to him what had happened; but it was really so
bad that I must not repeat it here. The passage was St. John, iv., 9:
Λέγει οὔν αὐτῷ ἡ γυνὴ ἡ Σαμαρειτῖς.
The young Prince, the present Emperor, who was with his father, was very
much pleased with what he saw of Oxford, of the river, and of the life
of the young men. He would have liked to spend a term or two at Oxford,
but there were objections. Fears of English influence had begun to show
themselves at Berlin. Several young ladies tried their powers of
persuasion on the young Prince, who told me at the time, in true
academic German, “In all my life I have not been canvassed so much” (In
meinem Leben bin ich noch nicht so gekeilt worden).
It is well known how warm an interest the young Prince, now the German
Emperor, has always taken in the success of Oxford, and for how many
years he has always sent his congratulations by telegram to the
successful, and now almost charmed, Oxford crew.