You, my dearest Varnhagen, who are not afraid of grief, but who trace its phases through the depths of sentiment, you should receive at this sorrowful time a few words expressing the love which both brothers feel for you. The release has not yet come. I left him last night at 11 o’clock, and I hasten to him again. The day, yesterday, was less distressing. A half lethargic condition, frequent, though not restless, slumber, and after each waking, words of love, of comfort; but always the clearness of the great intellect, which penetrates and distinguishes everything and examines its own condition. The voice was very feeble, hoarse, and thin, like a child’s—leeches were therefore applied to the throat. Full consciousness! “Think often of me,” he said the day before yesterday, “but always with cheerfulness! I was very happy; and this day also was a beautiful one for me; for ‘Love is above all.’ I will soon be with mother, and will have an insight into a higher order of things.” I have no shadow of hope. I never thought my old eyes had so many tears! It has lasted near eight days.[[11]]

19.
HUMBOLDT TO VARNHAGEN.

Berlin, May 15th, 1835, Tuesday.

My time is, unfortunately, so much occupied by the many princely strangers, and I am so affected by the cold, though not at all bracing weather, that I can scarcely find leisure to thank you, dear friend, for the “Bollmann”[[12]] and the biographical sketch of him, in which I recognised at once your pen, and also the “retouchings,” when the “Staats Zeitung” fell into my hands. One should not undertake to speak of distinguished men in such papers; it is a difficult task, even for a man of your genius, to keep the proper course between the family, the censor, and the cold, indifferent public.

The name of “Mundt” has recalled to me some remarkable pages of his “Madonna,” on the tendency of the Germans to sentimental lucubrations. There is much truth in these observations, and I thought to read my own sentence in them. So much, dear friend, on this world, to us, now unhappily deserted.

Always gratefully,

A. Humboldt.

I feel some sorrow, nevertheless, that you refuse to see the Grand-Duchess.

20.
HUMBOLDT TO VARNHAGEN.

Berlin, May 6th, 1835.