Here are the adieux, the last ones of Mr. de Talleyrand at Fontainebleau, on the 2d of June, 1838: “Adieu, my dear Bresson, stay at Berlin as long as you can; you are well off there; do not try to be better off. There will be much commotion in the world; you are young; you will see it.” I quote these words for you, because they agree with the spirit of your note, for which I thank you once more, and which will become a family title to me.
Note by Humboldt.—Letter of Count Bresson, French Ambassador at Berlin.—I kept it on account of the few words of Talleyrand. I had written to Mr. Bresson that the situation of France was very serious, that I still believed in peace, because, besides the wisdom of the rulers, there was an expectant treatment of want of energy and timid prudence. That these things, however, could act only for a limited time, and that those who were young, like him, would see in action what was now spreading its deep roots, as the unconscious and inarticulate desires of the nations.
79.
ARAGO TO HUMBOLDT.
Paris, August 19th, 1834.
My dear Friend—I cannot find words to tell you[[38]] how sorry I am at having caused you a moment’s annoyance. Be persuaded, then, once for all, that whatever wrongs, real or apparent, you may have experienced at my hands, you will never suffer that of my forgetting how good you have always been to me. The friendship which makes me so happy and proud, and which I have shown to you, shall never be surpassed by yours for me. I wanted, on the occasion of your kindly dedication, to give a public evidence of my friendship, but various circumstances arising out of my position, just now so very difficult and complicated, prevented. I hope, however, that it is only delayed.
I am sorry to learn that your health is not satisfactory. Mine is very bad; but I care little about it. All that I daily see in this vile world of meanness, servility, and low passion, makes me look with indifference on the events with which men are mostly pre-occupied. The only news that could at present cure me of my spleen, would be that you were coming to Paris. Why have I not found a single word of hope in your letter—even for a distant future?
The scientific world here is in a dead calm. Everything has a desponding look. I am going to-morrow to England with Mr. Pentland. Shall I come back with more comforting notions?
Our observatory is elegant, and very commodious. The Ministry decided that a director must be appointed, and I was chosen unanimously. I have under my orders four or five youths, who have the title of assistants, and a salary of 2,000 francs. Under this arrangement, we shall try to achieve something out of the beaten track.
Adieu, my dear and excellent friend. Mathieu, who has not yet entirely recovered from a severe disease in his eyes, charges me, as does his wife also, to recommend him to your remembrance.
Always yours through life,