He had, by a single blow, fatally mutilated the system which was the pride and glory of their nation: it was ungenerous to remind them of his triumph. It required but little tact to have reconciled the French philosophers to the revolution he had effected; but, unfortunately, that cannot be said of Davy, which was so wittily observed of Voltaire,—that if he trod upon the toes of their prejudices, he touched his hat at the same time: even the affair of Iodine, had it been skilfully managed, would never have left an angry feeling. It was not his success, but the manner in which he spoke of it, that rendered it so offensive. He should have acted according to the judicious advice given to a member of the clerical profession, upon his consulting a friend as to the propriety of continuing his field-sports, should he become a dignitary of the Church—"You may hunt, but you must not holla."
It may be supposed that the unguarded conduct of Davy reached the ear of the Emperor; for in a conversation with one of the leading members of the Institute, Napoleon took occasion to observe, that he understood the young English chemist held them all in low estimation.
Having thus candidly avowed the errors of Davy, I may be justified in claiming from the reader his confidence in the sincerity with which I shall attempt to palliate them. From my personal knowledge of his character, I am inclined to refer much of that unfortunate manner, which has been considered as the expression of a haughty consciousness of superiority, to the desire of concealing a mauvaise honte and gaucherie—an ungraceful timidity, which he could never conquer. The bashful man, if he possess strong passions, will frequently force himself into a state of effrontery, by a violence of effort which passes amongst ordinary observers for the sallies of pride, or the ebullitions of temper; whereas if, on the contrary, his temperament be cold and passionless, he will exhibit traits of the most painful reserve. This proposition cannot, perhaps, be more forcibly illustrated than by a comparison of the manners of Davy and Cavendish, whose temperaments were certainly as much opposed to each other as fire is to ice: the latter, however, was shy and bashful, to a degree bordering upon disease; and nothing so much distressed him as an introduction to strangers, or as his being pointed out as a person distinguished in science. On one of the Sunday evening soirées of Sir Joseph Banks, he happened to be conversing with his friend Mr. Hatchett, when Dr. Ingenhouz, who was rather remarkable for pomposity of manner, approached him with an Austrian gentleman in his hand, and introduced him formally to Mr. Cavendish. He recounted the titles and qualifications of his foreign friend at great length, and concluded by saying, that he had been particularly anxious to be introduced to a philosopher so universally celebrated throughout Europe as Mr. Cavendish. As soon as Dr. Ingenhouz had finished, the Austrian gentleman began; he assured Mr. Cavendish that one of his principal inducements in coming to London, was to see and converse with one whom he considered the most distinguished chemist of the age. To all these high-flown addresses, Mr. Cavendish answered not a single word, but stood with his eyes cast down upon the floor, in a state of the most painful confusion. At length, espying an opening in the crowd, he darted through it with all the speed he could command, and never stopped until he reached his carriage, which immediately drove him home.
From the same cause, probably, arose Davy's inattention and carelessness in those little observances of etiquette, which many may treat as empty and unmeaning ceremonials, but which the members of a polished community regard as the delicate expressions of feeling, and the language of sentiment.
It is said, that on conversing in the chamber of the Institute, he received one of its most distinguished and venerable members, who approached him with the air of salutation, without rising from his seat; a circumstance perhaps in itself of very trifling importance, but it was considered as a mark of disrespect, which is not readily forgiven, when a spirit of rivalry may be supposed to sharpen the affront. It will be remembered that Cæsar might date his loss of popularity to the fact of his having received the Senate while sitting in the porch of the temple of Venus, and that it formed one of the chief pretences of those who organised the conspiracy against his person.
There were, besides, other sources of unpopularity, which we are bound in fairness and candour to impute to the excellencies, rather than to the defects, of his character. If we believe with Johnson, that men have sometimes gained reputation from their foibles, we may certainly admit the converse of the proposition, that they have occasionally lost it from their virtues. Davy, as we have seen, possessed from his earliest years a frankness of disposition which endeared him to all his friends, but in after life it unquestionably exposed him to various annoyances, which by a little reserve he would have certainly escaped. It is quite surprising how much a little mystery, judiciously managed, will achieve. Seven veils converted the fragment of a tile, ploughed up in the neighbourhood of Florence, into an object of awful devotion.[8]
Although it must be admitted that our philosopher lost some popularity during his visit to the French metropolis, the savans did not the less respect his talents, or admire his discoveries. They appear to have been impressed with the same sentiment as that which animated Voltaire, when he asked whether the discovery of Racine's weakness made the part of Phædra less admirable.
M. Dumas, who is certainly by no means distinguished for the readiness with which he is disposed to pay homage to British talent, has declared that Davy was the greatest chemical genius that ever appeared.
In fact, the more the researches of this great experimentalist are studied, the more they must be admired: every attempt to depreciate their intrinsic importance will only serve to display their exalted merits; every attempt to falsify their results will only tend to demonstrate their accuracy. It is by an elaborate examination only, that the full evidence of their truth can be displayed; there are points which the keen eye of genius will discern, that are invisible to a grosser sense: the coldness of criticism then will only make them glow the brighter; like his own potassium, the contact even of ice, so far from extinguishing, will light them up in splendour.
Sir Humphry left Paris on the morning of the 29th of December, and proceeded by the way of Lyons to Montpellier, where he remained for a month, and became acquainted with M. Berard, who afterwards filled the chemical chair in that university, and in whose laboratory he worked upon the subject of Iodine, and examined many of the marine productions of the Mediterranean, with the view of determining whether they contained that body. M. Berard directed a considerable quantity of the species of Ulva, which abounds on the coast of Languedoc, to be burnt for him; and although the ashes consisted for the most part of common salt, he obtained traces of Iodine in the lixivium. From the general results of his experiments, however, he concludes, that the ashes of the fuci and ulvæ of the Mediterranean afford it in much smaller quantities than the sea-weed, from which soda is procured; and it was only in a very few instances that he could derive any evidence of its existence. In the ashes of the corallines and sponges, he could not obtain the slightest indication of its presence. During this period he also extended his enquiries respecting the chemical agencies of Iodine, and the properties of several of its compounds, especially of those in which he believed it to exist in triple combination with alkalies and oxygen, and for which he proposed the name of Oxy-iodes.[9]