The admirable method of life which he recommends as a means of subduing unruly impulses, distinguished him to the end. It was his fortune to be equally a welcome guest whether at the imperial court or amidst the gay ringing of glasses in the friendly circle, and this was because he was able to take part in the sharpest exchange of opinions, and to experience the heartiest pleasure, without exceeding the limits of good breeding. He could play with his children and knew how to establish himself in their youthful souls. His student comrades remained the friends of his old age, and his travelling companions, over whom he had ruled as a leader, clung to him with affection until his or their death. Who ever showed greater fidelity or firmer friendship than he did towards those equals and colleagues who had come into close relations with him in scientific matters or in family intercourse? They remained closely linked to him in the bonds of affection for decades. From his school-days on, he felt the need of friendship, and when a youth in Paris he gave expression to his thoughts on friendship, and wrote: “A circle of four friends bears the same relation to one of three that a four-legged table bears to a three-legged. Thus two friends form a line and three a surface.” His choice of friends fell exclusively on men of intellectual prominence, but the “intellectual” in its modern, and especially in its Berlin, sense, was repugnant to him. Manfully did he defend the interests of those whom he knew to be men of ability and of whose labors he had availed himself. After the designer Weidenbach had done him invaluable service in Egypt and in the preparation of the great work on monuments and the embellishment of the museum at Berlin, he was left without employment. Lepsius wished to procure him a permanent situation in the museum, and with good right, for his best years had been passed entirely in works ordered by the government, and these he had executed in the best possible manner and without regard to the more lucrative situations which were offered him. Nevertheless the Minister, v. Raumer, coolly refused the petition for this very deserving artist, with the remark that Weidenbach might look for some other employment. Thereupon Lepsius replied to the high official, who was a man of strict piety but little human feeling, and whose ministry has long been recognized as pernicious, “So you think as Talleyrand did, who to the appeal of a suppliant “Mais il faut pourtant que je vive,” replied: “Je n’en vois pas la nécessité.” Lepsius knew how to procure the desired situation for his protégé, in spite of Raumer, and Weidenbach filled it admirably to the end.
How is it conceivable the man lacked feeling who, during his whole lifetime, was the object of the warmest attachment from men of such tender feeling as Bunsen, the Grimms, Carl Ritter, Ernest Curtius, Max Müller, and many others. Who can venture to accuse of heartlessness the man who knew how to win the hearts of the best men and women, as he did? On October 17th, 1838, Frau v. Bunsen wrote to Abeken from Llanover: “Lepsius has won the first place in the heart of my mother, (a truly venerable old lady of great experience) and is praised and admired in different degrees by all.” And from how many friends and relations who did not live in Berlin do we hear that it was a festival for them when they received a visit from this great man, who, with all his personal dignity, was most cheerful and sympathetic. His own mother had died early (1819), but his father had married her younger sister, and had found in her a worthy companion for himself, and the most faithful, loving and discreet care-taker and educator for his children that could have been imagined. After the death of the President of the Court the widow’s share of his property amounted to so much that Frau Julie’s future appeared to be assured. Nevertheless, her stepson Richard, our Lepsius, with the cordial assent of his noble wife, immediately declared himself ready to renounce in her favor the not inconsiderable inheritance which would fall to his own share. The old lady did not accept this gift, but Richard appears to have been always the favorite among her stepsons. Do I need to recall the fatherly love and fidelity which he showed to the adopted daughter, whom he brought up with his own six children?
Before us lies a large quarto volume beautifully bound. It contains in forty-eight manuscript pages an excellent description of Thebes. This is entitled: “A cyclorama of Thebes, sent as a greeting from the distance to my dear parents on their silver wedding, April, 1845.”[103] The whole has the appearance of a “festal congratulation,” such as children offer to their parents, and its beautiful penmanship evinces the most loving care. Yet the author and writer was no less a person than the celebrated leader of a great expedition and was then four and thirty years old. The conclusion of this “congratulation” runs thus:
“We close to-day, with the week, both our sojourn and our labors in the Memnonia of ancient Thebes. They have kept us fully occupied for fourteen weeks. To-morrow, as a farewell to our Theban capital, I intend to celebrate a little festival, which I have privately arranged. It will be on the top of our hill, where this description was written. I am going to have a new tent raised there and have it decked with green pennons, and will share these pages with my travelling companions, as a little celebration of your wedding feast. They are accustomed to feel a friendly sympathy in all that nearly concerns or moves me, and therefore in you. Thus, in the immediate enjoyment and observation of this beautiful and remarkable scene, we will once more impress the principal points upon our memories before our departure. We will remember you and the large family circle, which, we hope, will have gathered from the south and the north to surround you in undisturbed happiness. But I shall think of you most vividly, since I cannot myself hand to you both this greeting from the Nile. But so much the more impatiently do I hope to follow it in a few months.”
These words were written by a warm-hearted man, and to them he appends the following significant verses:
For science, though with effort strong we see
Her seek a lofty goal,
Though from its chains she wakes, and quick sets free,
The darkened soul,
Yet still has but a cold and borrowed light,
Like moonshine pale,
If the heart’s breath of life be wanting quite,
If warm love fail!
We have already repeatedly shown the beautiful and intimate relation which bound Lepsius to his father, and pointed out how zealously he ever tried to impart to his father everything that could please or interest him. He never forgot what he owed to the guide of his youth and childhood,—and it was not little. Above all others, the gift which he had received from his father was the strong love of truth and order by which he was distinguished. It was not only that this lightened his most difficult labors, but it rather made many of them possible. Hand in hand with this went the painstaking accuracy with which he worked. He never laid aside anything which was not entirely completed and finished up to the last detail. Thence it comes, for example, that the second and third volumes of his chronology, announced in the preface, were never published. He had begun important preparatory works for them, but as these were not entirely finished he only gave them to the press in detached monographs, which he could regard as completed. If, with the exception of the Decree of Canopus, and a portion of the seventeenth chapter of the Book of the Dead, we possess no continuous translation of hieroglyphic texts by him, this circumstance is also to be explained by his dislike to letting anything leave his hand and go to press which contained flaws or was not perfectly completed and filled out. All that he translated from ancient Egyptian into German gives the most sufficient evidence of his mastery of this branch also, but the critical philologist never prevailed upon himself to deliver a line which was only half known as one that was known. The fragment of his translation of the “Book of the Dead” which we have previously mentioned, and which has for its basis a critical comparison of all the texts obtainable, shows much greater ability than the translation of the entire “Book of the Dead” which has recently been prematurely attempted by a later Egyptologist.
It would be an error to call Lepsius a genius. He lacked the strong imagination, the winged creative power which achieves feats that soar beyond the conception of men of pure understanding, as well as the indifference to the things of this world and the ardent temperament of a genius. But he was a man of talent of the first order, with wonderful intensity of intellect, and the rarest strength of will and capability for learning and work. Besides this he was not only, as his wife said, an “homme comme il faut,” that is, a man fitted to appear in society, but also the model of a scholar, and what is more, of a man. It is true that warm feeling is necessary for the latter, and we remain true to our conviction that he possessed this.
In his Parisian diary, which was intended for himself alone, he tells of the fall of a platform on the occasion of a public festival. A boy, who was a stranger to him, was injured by it; he took him in his carriage, and subsequently wrote: “I held him afterwards for a long time in my arms, so that at least he should see something of the unveiling of the statue.” On the 25th of July, 1834, he wrote in the same journal: “A disagreeable and entirely unfounded slander will perhaps put an end to my Egyptian project,” and immediately afterwards: “Heap coals of fire on the head of thy enemy.”