Sunday Night.

“A Year of Revolution. From a journal kept in Paris in 1848. By the Marquis of Normanby, K.G. London, 1857. 2 vols. in 8vo.”

Varnhagen remarks in his diary, under March 8th, 1858: “Humboldt sends me, with kind lines, the book of the Marquis of Normanby on the revolution of 1848. He calls it an indiscreet book, and almost talentless. I call it stupid, and perfidious in its contents; it shows the evil results of meddling with diplomacy, particularly if unofficial, as was that of the Marquis at the time. Lamartine as well as Cavaignac gave far too much heed to him. He is one of the dullest and most tedious Englishmen ever heard of.”

March 9th, 1858. Varnhagen adds this further remark on Normanby: “Read a little more of Normanby. He is a poor fool, but his bad book is good enough to expose the paltriness of Louis Philippe, the villany of Guizot, and the pernicious influences of sneaks and sharpers. His forte consists in the perfect success with which he flattens down to insufferable monotony the enlivening and exhilarating effects of the torrent of events.”

222.
HUMBOLDT TO VARNHAGEN.

Berlin, April 13th, 1858.

I am touched by the kindness of your letter, and the souvenir from your talented niece, Miss Ludmilla. As Illaire called yesterday, I have made every preparation to be of use to M——, the esteemed clergyman of ——, in the acquisition of one of those toys, which, if they do not nourish, yet afford an agreeable diversion, like that enjoyed by the knights of old, who galloped over a course covered with obstructions, and the prospect of escape from the infernal regions of the fourth class.[[102]] I shall write to Illaire for the third class, but beseech you to jog my memory. ——’s title! I believe he does not preach—has even ceased to administer the little wafers which refuse to unite with the bread, their chemical kinsman. I believe, however, he is a Protestant power in ——.

For the benefit of your soul and Miss Ludmilla’s, I inclose some phantasies on the antediluvian universal absence of rain in the Berlin world, and on the consuming fire, sure to be occasioned by a little forgotten potash, in the midst of innocent felspar of the granite formation, on the day of judgment: “de la geologie hébraïzante,” as I have been imprudent enough to style it in “Kosmos.”

Yours,

A. v. Ht.