Yours,
A. Ht.
Tuesday, late at night.
The enclosed letter from August. Grau, of Montgomery County, Ohio, dated February 6, 1852, contains the following: “A gentleman who has travelled over a large portion of the earth, who, by the publication of so many excellent writings, has erected for himself so durable and so resplendent a monument on the field of literature and science, is not to be named by any German without the greatest esteem. When the names of great warriors who have spilt the blood of their fellow-men upon the battle-field shall be forgotten, your name will blaze for hundreds and thousands of years in the annals of history. But it is singular, at the same time, that the greatest naturalists, philosophers, and astronomers who have occupied the principal portion of their lives with new inventions, and with investigations into the elementary powers of nature, are often totally indifferent to their salvation or perdition in the world to come. Goethe, Schiller, Wieland, and Kant, were all distinguished characters and brilliant ideals, and in their walk and conversation were more or less observant of what are called the laws of morality, so as probably to abstain from cards, nine-pins, playhouses, and dancing, but their sphere of operations did not reach into eternity, and the fate of their fellow-men in the other world—their salvation—was of little interest to them.” After launching into further sanctified regrets at the scarcity of true godliness, and its absence even in princes and royal chaplains, the writer continues: “The last King of Prussia, and his truly royal Louise, had some knowledge of a state of regeneration, as well as the last King of Sweden, the former French Marshal Bernadotte, Prince of Ponte Corvo. A poor peasant was better able to enlighten him on the means of salvation than one of the first bishops of the Lutheran church. O, Sir Privy Councillor, while I do full justice to your unblemished life, your high character as a statesman, and your acquirements as a man of science; and while I rejoice that Berlin—ay, that Prussia may boast of such a man as your Excellency, yet my joy would turn into holy exultation if I should have the honor of seeing you a warm disciple of Him who died upon Golgotha. Without Him, Lord Chamberlain, with all our acquirements, with all our boasted knowledge, we are singularly unhappy.” Further on, the letter reads: “Goethe says, on a certain occasion, that during the whole course of his long life he had not spent four happy weeks. These are the words of a great man of science. If Christ has not taken up his residence in our hearts, who else can be there but Satan? One of them, surely, must be there—one must wield the baton of command. It is manifestly impossible at one and the same time to serve two masters! Worthy sir, my gracious Lord Chamberlain, I am penetrated with great esteem for you and your lofty merits; I love and revere you. I am not worthy to unlace your shoes. This is the unconstrained language of my heart; although I have occupied myself with acquiring the elements of seventeen different languages, and can even at this day read the writings of the New Testament in seven different tongues. But I have not only been firmly convinced of the truth of the Christian religion for thirty-one years, but experience the influence of the Holy Ghost from day to day, and almost from hour to hour.” The letter is subscribed, “Your Grace’s most devoted servant and brother in Christ, Augustus Grau.” Humboldt adds the remark: “An attempt at conversion, from the State of Ohio.”
150.
HUMBOLDT TO VARNHAGEN.
Berlin, March 13th, 1853.
The confusion of my lonely life, my dear friend of many years, at a time of such profound moral degradation, leaves me in a harassing uncertainty as to whether I have or have not sent you the seventh volume of my brother’s complete works. I am greatly ashamed, but I know that you have not yet learned to be angry with me. The article against Capodistrias, the demand for the surrender of Strasburg, sounds like the irony of fate upon our present humility....
With ancient love and reverence, yours,
A. v. Humboldt.
The death of Leopold von Buch bows me deeply. A happy blending of the most noble, philanthropic sentiments, momentary impulses, and a little despotism of opinion; one of the few men who have a physiognomy. He has given a new form to his science; he was one of the greatest illustrations of our times; our friendship has endured sixty-three years, unruffled, although we often tilled the same field. I found him, in Freiberg, in 1791, where he had come to the Mining Academy before myself, although five years younger. His funeral appeared like a prelude to my own, C’est comme cela que je serai dimanche. And in what a condition do I leave the world—I who lived in 1789? But centuries are as seconds in the mighty development of advancing humanity. The swelling curve, however, has its little indentations, and it is irksome to be found in such an interval of decadence.