The Life and Letters of The Right Hon. Friedrich Max Muller

The good, the bad, and the ugly.

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Part 1 of 2


Speech at University College, London. Prize Fellowships. Deaths of Carlyle, Stanley, and other friends. Visit to the Hartz and Dessau. Oriental Congress at Berlin. Paris. Speech at French Institute. Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason. Lectures at Cambridge on India. Death of Dr, Pusey. National Anthem in Sanskrit.

The whole of this year was one of strenuous work to Max Muller, He had undertaken to make a translation of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, in honour of the centenary of its first publication; he was retranslating Buddha's Dhammapada or Path of Virtue, from the Pali; and he prepared with his Buddhist pupils one of the texts from Japan which was published in the Aryan series of the Anecdota Oxoniensia, the starting of which undertaking was mainly due to Max Muller’s initiative. In addition to this, the editing of the Sacred Books of the East was continuous work, involving the reading, and sometimes correcting, of innumerable proof-sheets, besides constant correspondence with scholars offering to take part in the great work, or with others who were dilatory in fulfilling their contracts. As Max Muller was suffering the whole year from what threatened to become scrivener s palsy, he had to dictate almost everything, whether letters or books. Happily, rest and careful treatment warded off the complaint, and he never had any return of it after this year.

To Miss Collet.

January 23.

'I have always admitted that Keshub Chunder Sen has been weak, though I could show you that, after the first step had been taken, he was more helpless than weak. I do not believe that the Hindus do not care for truth; on the contrary, if left to themselves, I believe (with Col. Sleeman) that they are more truthful than any other nation. Their whole literature from beginning to end is pervaded by reverence for truth. From what I know of Keshub Chunder Sen, I should never suspect him of an untruth.'

In another letter to Miss Collet, Max Muller writes: —

‘Yet I have felt that in spite of many whirlpools, eddies, and water- falls, the main stream was flowing on in the right direction, and that really good work is being done in India, both by Keshub Chunder Sen and by his opponents.'

To the end Max Muller preserved his faith in Keshub Chunder Sen, and did all he could to uphold him and his work against the attacks made on him in India and England.

'Two points only seemed to me of real importance in the teaching of his last years: first, the striving after a universal religion, and the recognition of a common substance in all religions; secondly, the more open recognition of the historical superiority of Christianity as compared with more ancient forms of faith. Keshub Chunder Sen rejoiced in the discovery that, from the first, all religions were but varying forms of one great truth. This was his pearl of great price. To him it changed the whole aspect of the world, and gave a new meaning to his life. That the principle of historical growth or natural evolution applied to religion also, as I had tried to prove in my books on the Science of Religion, was to him the solution of keenly-felt difficulties, a real solace in his own perplexities.'

There is little doubt that it was Keshub Chunder Sen's strong leaning towards Christianity, in which he was before his time, which annoyed the Rationalists in India, and called forth some of the attacks made on him in England.

In the spring of this year Max Muller was asked if he would join ‘The Club’ if there were a vacancy: ‘the most distinguished dining-club in this country/ wrote one of the members; ‘it consists of the primates in politics, literature, art, and science.' Max Muller was very much gratified at the wish expressed, but he felt, delightful as it would be, the effort of going to London to attend the ten dinners each session of Parliament would hinder his work too much, and he most reluctantly refused the intended honour.

In February Max Muller attended a great dinner at University College, London, on the occasion of the opening of the north wing, just added to the buildings. Lord Kimberley, as President of the College, was in the chair. It was a large and noble gathering, and among the speakers were Lord Sherbrooke, Professors Henry Smith, Roscoe, and Huxley, Sir F. Leighton, Sir John Lubbock, Sir G. Jessel, and the President of the Royal Society. The toast of the British Universities was proposed by Professor Tyndall, to which Max Muller replied. After assuring his hearers that the majority of people at Oxford had no feelings but those of sincere rejoicing at the rise and growth of what he might call the young Universities, the Universities of the future, he went on to explain a scheme that was then much in his thoughts, for throwing open the 150 Fellowships left in Oxford, after pro- viding for all the wants of tutorial and professorial teaching, to the whole of England. The scheme is fully explained in a paper, extracts from which are given below, which he sent up in March to Professor Tyndall, asking if any of his scientific friends would sign it It had not, as yet, been shown to any one. The paper is interesting as a scheme that, if carried out, might have put England on a par with France and Germany in the encouragement of scientific and literary research.

'We, the undersigned, beg to submit to the Commissioners of the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge that it would most effectually serve for the promotion of learning, if the so-called Prize Fellowships were thrown open to general competition. It may be desirable to confine other Fellowships, to which tutorial and other College duties are attached, to persons familiar with the spirit of the two Universities, but with regard to Prize Fellowships there seems to be no reason why the field of competition should be limited to candidates brought up at Oxford and Cambridge. The wider the field, the greater would be the value attached to these Fellowships, and the greater also the gain for the two Universities in attracting towards themselves the best talent of the whole country.

'The undersigned would likewise suggest to the Commissioners that these Prize Fellowships should not in future be bestowed without some definite duties being attached to them, and that, as a rule, they should not be tenable for more than five years....

'Holders of Prize Fellowships, if they have done good work during the first five years, should know that they may receive a second Fellowship in addition to the first, both tenable again for five years, and that after ten years, if they have produced some valuable work, and wish to devote themselves entirely to the prosecution of scientific studies, they may look forward to a third Fellowship, and become Professors in the University, under regulations similar to those now proposed by the University Commissioners.

‘By thus concentrating the resources which the two Universities possess in their Prize Fellowships (representing, after all deductions are made, an annual sum of about £100,000), the Commissioners might make these Fellowships not only a reward for work done by school-boys and undergraduates, but an incentive to new work. A recognized career would thus be opened to young men of talent, wishing to devote themselves to the prosecution of independent investigations, and to the advancement of sound learning, who, under present circumstances, have either to face years of uncertain adventure, or accept employment detrimental to the scientific character of their work. And the Universities would more truly fulfil their double function of transmitting and enlarging knowledge, by training a class of students really qualified to fill professorial Chairs, and to maintain in the future the high position of English scholarship and learning.'

To Professor Tyndall.

Oxford, March 16.

‘I may have made in the paper I sent you the same mistake which I find I made in some others. The sum I want to secure to science is not £10,000 a year, but £100,000 a year. We may put down the Prize Fellowships in each University as at least 150 — that leaves a large margin for tutorial and professorial Fellowships.

‘300 to 400 Fellowships, each of about £300 a year, gives about £100,000. Is not this worth an effort?’

Professor Tyndall was much interested in Max Muller’s scheme, and, though himself ill from overwork, wrote that he thought the statement admirable, and would send it on to those likely to be interested in the subject, whilst he himself would gladly sign it, A few days later Professor Tyndall wrote again: ‘I have set your scheme afoot, and I think you will not lack backers.’

To The Same.

March 26.

‘I was very sorry to hear of your being pulled down. This won’t do. Who is to fight, if you give in? I shall get little, if any, support for my proposal here at Oxford. Some people think it high treason. I believe, on the contrary, like many kinds of high treason, it would be a blessing to Oxford, and open a future to English science such as we can hardly imagine as yet. You hardly know what a Crypto- Anglicist I am, and how firmly I believe in the future of England. But really English genius has had no chance, and it is a perfect marvel to me when I see what it has achieved, even when dancing in chains. The waste of power here at Oxford is fearful. I have known dozens of young men who might have done any amount of solid scientific work, and who dwindle away into judges or bishops. What I want is not only a carriere ouverte [Google translate: open career], but a carriere assuree [Google translate: assured career] for students and scholars. 1 am afraid we shall not carry this proposal now, but even to have mooted it may do some good hereafter.'

Carlyle had died in the February of this year, and the statue referred to in the following letter was to him. The statue now stands on the Chelsea Embankment, near to Cheyne Row, where Carlyle lived, and is a sitting life-size figure in bronze.

To Professor Tyndall.

Oxford, May 4.

‘Well done, royally done! taking royally in its etymological meaning — rex being a leader, a straightforward director, the leader of a forlorn hope, the right man, when right (rectum) has to be vindicated! Really, when one hears people talk about Carlyle and Disraeli, all landmarks of right and wrong seem to have vanished.

‘I have no misgivings about the statue, though the price charged seems rather high. I also should prefer bronze to marble in this climate.

‘Froude will be glad to serve on the Committee: he is sure to exert himself. Lowell will help and contribute. We shall have a small committee here, but we want printed papers, &c. The fire must be stirred in the central place.'

To His Son.

May 16, 1881.

‘“Becoming independent" is one thing, “becoming rich" another. Everybody ought to try hard to make himself independent, but then a man must learn to be independent with little, such as Carlyle was — one of the most independent and honest men I have ever known. Don’t forget that I took you once to see him — it is better than to have seen the Pyramids or Niagara.’

Max Muller had the strongest admiration for Carlyle. Soon after his death, he writes: —

‘Think of the simplicity and frugality of his life, the nobility of his heart, the sublimity of his purposes. I have known many good and great men. I have never known one so strong and straight, so sturdy and striking as Thomas Carlyle — strong and straight like a pyramid, a mystery to the common crowd of travellers, and certainly not to be measured in its width and breadth, in its height and depth, by the small pocket-rule of “common sense"!'

The translation of the Dhammapada, which formed Max Muller’s second contribution to the Sacred Books of the East, came out, as has been stated, this year, and seems to have been read by his old friend Mrs. Josephine Butler.

To Mrs. Butler.

Oxford, May 18.

‘Dear Mrs. Butler,— I am glad you appreciate Buddha, like myself. I feel I owe him much. As to a life, we shall never have that: we may know what his various disciples thought of him, but then a picture is never greater than the artist. We shall have to be satisfied with a few stones picked up here and there, and have to build up our own image. I shall send you some more of him, if you like. I expect Froude here in a few days: his son comes to matriculate at Oriel. I am not the least shaken in my belief in Carlyle: he was the greatest and truest man I have ever known, and- that will do for me. What a loss Sandwith is1 [Dr, Sandwith was one of the defenders of Kars in 1855, under General Williams.]! What would England be without its unknown worthies? He too sped through life straight as an arrow, and there are few left like him.’

The following letter shows how completely Max Muller devoted himself to his Buddhist pupils: —

To Mr. Nanjio.

Oxford, May 28.

‘I had a letter from Lord Granville to-day, informing me that the two MSS. of the Sukhavati-Vyuha would be sent to me from Paris through the English Ambassador. I expect they will arrive in about a week. Would it not be better now for you and me to stay at Oxford till we have finished the collation of these MSS.? It need not take much time, unless the text should be very different— which, however, I do not expect.

‘If we could finish this collation and the printing of the Bodleian Catalogue before going to Paris, it would be well to do so, I think. But tell me really what you like to do, and I shall then see how I can arrange my plans. Though our departure for Paris may be delayed now, yet I am as anxious as ever to go there, and afterwards to Germany, and to take care of you on the journey to Paris and Berlin.

‘What shall we put on the title-page?

“Catalogue of Japanese and Chinese Books and Manuscripts, Prepared by Bunyiu Nanjio, Priest of the Monastery,... Japan'"?’

Just before Commemoration of this year a great sorrow came to Max Muller in the death of his friend Dr. Rolleston. Of all his friends in Oxford, he was the one with whom Max Muller was at this time the most entirely united, and till Dr. Rolleston's illness, which obliged him to leave Oxford for some months, only returning to die in a few days, they were constantly together. In their fearless love of truth, their power of affection, their buoyant natures, their powerful and intuitive grasp of any subject occupying their minds, they had much in common, and for years Max Muller felt the loss in his daily life. To escape Commemoration, for which he had no heart, he went to West Malvern, accompanied by his Japanese priests. It was on this visit that an incident occurred which Max Muller was fond of narrating. Coming home one evening along the ridge of the hills, they stood still to watch one of those glorious sunsets which are so often to be seen from the Malvern range. ‘The western sky was like a golden curtain, covering we know not what, when Kasawara said to me, “That is what we call the Eastern Gate of Sukhavati, the Land of Bliss.” He looked forward to it, and he trusted he should meet there all who had loved him, and whom he had loved, and that he should gaze on the Buddha Amitabha — the Infinite Light." A lady who heard Max Muller describe this scene, sent him the following lines: —

‘We walked and talked together, and before us
The golden glory of the sunset shone.
Then a great raptured silence brooded o'er us —
The glory glowed with gems — the orb was gone.
Then spoke my friend, with reverent voice and low,
‘‘Yonder! the wondrous Temple's eastern gate!
Within” (he eager gazed) “fain would I go,
Beyond those shining bars my fathers wait.”
I hung my head. My Christian eyes had seen
But a grand painting, crimson, green, and gold;
While he, a Buddhist—by my side — had been,
Through pearly doors, looking on Light untold.
And now, whene’er I see a glorious sunset sky,
I think — beyond that gate what splendid visions lie.’

To Professor Noire.

Translation. Malvern, 27, 1881.

'My dear Friend, — I have been here for more than a week, enjoying the beautiful fresh air of the Malvern Hills. I longed for rest, for blow after blow had come upon me lately through the deaths of my nearest friends and acquaintances. Bernays was an old friend of mine, of whom I saw much at the Bunsens’. His was a clear mind; he was a splendid Greek scholar, and he was faithfully attached to me. Then, after various other losses, came the death of Professor Rolleston, which was so tragical. You remember him, do you not, and his ethnological museum? He mentioned your name often.... Occurrences like his tragic death, and his wife’s sad state, are beyond our understanding — we cannot tackle it. It seems something must be out of order to produce such convulsions of life. And so we become poorer and poorer. To-day, again, I hear of the death of a Swiss friend, Fritz Kraus, whom you may remember as the translator of Shakespeare’s Sonnets — to me a dear friend. And all this is because we grow old, but we cannot help wondering why we ourselves have to remain so long imprisoned here. I try to work as much as I possibly can: that gives me an aim to live for. Kant is difficult, but interests me deeply.’

To B. Malabari, Esq.

June 31.

'I was grieved to hear of the death of your child. I know what it is — there are few who do not know that grief. Even in the Rig-veda there is a simple prayer, Let us die in order that the old may not weep for the young.” It is a great problem why it should be so, and yet nothing lifts us so much above the cares of this life as love for those who have gone before us, and who are nearer to our hearts now than they were when we could see them every day. To die young is a great blessing—that thought ought to comfort those who are left behind to mourn.’

To Mr. Nanjio.

Oxford, 28, 1881.

'I was glad to hear that you had arrived safely in Oxford, and I hope your stay at Malvern will have done you some good. I am very anxious that you should acquire a thorough knowledge of Sanskrit, and I am glad to see that you are both making good progress; but there is still much before you, and you will have to work hard. If I sometimes seem impatient, you ought to know that it really arises from my wish to see you get on. You asked me for the meaning of K. M.: it means Knight of the Order of Merit. I have received many orders and ribbons, but that is the one I value most; there are only twenty Knights and they elect themselves, they are not made through the favour of kings or Ministers, but after a Knight has been elected he receives his decoration from the Emperor of Germany. Carlyle, the great historian, who died this year, declined to accept the Grand Cross of the Bath from Lord Beaconsfield, but he accepted the Order pour le Merite, because it was given him by his peers. All these things no doubt are vanities, but they also produce some good, because scholars all over the world exert themselves to gain that distinction, and thus it encourages them in their work.’

Early in July Max Muller heard of the death of Professor Benfey, Sanskrit Professor at Gottingen, who only the year before had celebrated the Jubilee of his professorship. 'The death of Benfey was a great shock,’ he writes; *he was a wonderful worker.’ This was followed by the loss of another Oxford friend, the Librarian of the Bodleian, 'Bodley Coxe,’ as his friends loved to call him.

But a far deeper sorrow fell on Max Muller, the shadow from which long rested on him. On July 18 his loved and valued friend Arthur Stanley, Dean of Westminster, died after a very short illness. Max had known him from the time of his own arrival in Oxford in 1848, and had paid him several visits at Canterbury. They had become intimate friends during the years 1856 to 1863, when Stanley was Canon of Christ Church. His marriage and removal to Westminster made no change in their mutual affection. His wife, Lady Augusta, welcomed her husband’s friends in the heartiest manner, and the Deanery was a London home to the Max Mullers. 'One could speak to him unreservedly, almost thoughtlessly,’ Max writes. ‘One knew he believed all one said.... It was a treat to speak with him, and to find that he really took one for better than one was— it made one better.’ ‘I miss Stanley very much. He always remained true to one. After he had once trusted a man, he seldom dropped him again.'[/quote]

To Professor Noire.

Translation. Oxford, July 23.

'I cannot tell you how sad I feel— all strength and joy seems to have left me. How I wish I could have a good cry I Well, we have to pull ourselves together. If I only could get away! On August 6, I hope to go with my wife and children to the Hartz mountains, to meet my old mother, aged 81 ... On Monday I am going up to London for the funeral. I am afraid of it, but I did not want to miss it. The sympathy all over England is wonderful.'

It had long been settled that the summer should be spent in Germany with his old mother, and she fixed on the Hartz as the place where they would meet and spend the holidays together.

To Lady Welby.

August 2.

'I feel very weary. This year has taken away almost all my friends in England and in Germany, and I wonder why I am left. We must not let our friends die, and I trust Stanley will long live among us. I have never known a better man — his very weaknesses arising from the best motives.’

A list exists in Max Muller's writing with not less than twenty-five names of friends who had passed away this year in England and Germany.

The time in the Hartz was a great success; Goslar, Hartzburg, and many other beautiful and interesting spots were visited, including Quedlinburg on the way to Dessau, where a happy week was spent with the relations: the last time they were all to be together. The Max Mullers went on to Dresden, and saw many of their valued friends, and from there Max Muller went to Berlin for the fifth Oriental Congress, and his wife and children returned to England.

To B. Malabari, Esq.

September 4.

‘I am deeply interested in the effect which my Hibbert Lectures will produce in India. When writing them I was often thinking of my friends in your country more than of my audience at Westminster. The views which I have put forward in these lectures on the origin and on the true nature, character, and value of religion, are the only possible solution of the difficulties which trouble you, or at least all who are honest among you, and which trouble us in Europe. Do not suppose that I say this from any selfish motive. Truth is not mine nor yours: we can only bear witness to it, we cannot make it. All I may truly say of myself is, that I have devoted my whole life to the study of religion and religions, and that the views put forward in my Hibbert Lectures are the result of the studies which have not ignored any one of the objections raised against religion whether in England or in India. We must look for that religion which is at the root of all religions, and of which every historical religion is but an imperfect expression. If we once understand why every expression was imperfect, we shall have to bear with every religion — we shall look in each for that with which we can agree, and leave the rest to Brahmans, Dasturs, and Popes. There is no religion which does not contain some truth, none which contains the whole truth — for religion is the light of truth as reflected in human mirrors— and however pure and spotless your mirror may be, there is none which in reflecting does not deflect the rays of light that fall on it. The first duty which every student of religion has to perform is to make himself acquainted with the books on which each religion claims to be founded. Hence my publication of the Sacred Books of the East, i.e. of the world, for all religions come from the East.’

Max Muller was a delegate to the Congress from the University of Oxford, and, as such, delivered an address at the opening meeting, in which he dwelt on the services rendered by Oxford to Oriental learning in the publication of the Sacred Books of the East and the Anecdota Oxoniensia.

The next day Max Muller gave a detailed account of how he had discovered some Sanskrit texts, hitherto unknown, in Japan, and he showed the fine facsimiles that had been sent him. Professor Weber congratulated Max on his discovery, and, in an able speech, dealt with its great importance for Sanskrit studies.

But much as he enjoyed the Congress, all Max Muller’s letters from Berlin are full of expressions of fatigue and his longing for rest. ‘You don’t know what a beehive it is, not to say wasp-hive!’ As much time as he could spare was given to his old friend of early days at Bunsen’s, Karl Meyer, who was very ill. They never met again. Lepsius, too, who was to have been president of the Congress, was too ill to take any part in it.

His two Japanese pupils, who had met him at Berlin, accompanied him to Paris. From there he writes, on September 19, to his wife: —

‘This place is full of memories, and I walk about often as in a dream—so many gone, so many almost forgotten, till some little thing brings them back to one's memory. It was a hard struggle I had to go through here, and with no definite prospects, risking all on one card. I passed the spot where I remember saying to Schlotzer (it must have been in 1846), “Two things I must get, to be a Member of the French Institute (1869) like Humboldt, and to be a Knight of the Order pour le Merite” (1874). He shouted! Well, I got both, and he will soon be Prussian Minister at Rome, where Bunsen was. Thus goes the world. But the dream of a reality is often happier than the reality of a dream.’

On September 23 Max Muller took his seat as a Foreign Member of the French Institute, to which he had been elected twelve years before, but his friends had not thought it wise for him to attempt it sooner — the feeling was so strong against all Germans, and even now there was a decided attempt to make it uncomfortable for him; those who had not known him in old days talking loudly when he began his address; but after a time his perfect self-possession, and the interest of his subject (the discovery of the Sanskrit texts in Japan), had their effect. Unfortunately, most of his old friends, who would have given him a cordial reception, were still in the country.

He wrote to his mother: —

Translation. Paris, September 27.

‘Last Friday I took my seat as a Foreign Member of the French Institute. There was much speechifying, and I had to read a long paper in French about the Sanskrit MSS. which I got from Japan. The Japs were there, and, when I mentioned their names, bowed and smiled. All seems to have gone off well. I was elected in 1869, hut had never taken my seat. There are only eight Foreign Members.’

To His Wife.

Paris, September 30.

‘My address in the Academy was no joke: since Humboldt no German has spoken there. How different is everything now to 1846, and how many are no longer here! I have seen my old lodging. It is wonderful how well all has gone with me. I began with nothing, and yet have accomplished something. That is the great thing, that one feels one has brought the world a step onwards, finished a little raw work, and carried through a few new ideas. Now may others carry the work still further.'

On his return to Oxford, Max Muller found a letter awaiting him from the Dean of Christ Church, asking if he could be persuaded to offer himself as a candidate for the vacant Bodley Librarianship. It needed little consideration for him to decline such a post. It would have taken all his time, and the great work on which he was embarked, the Sacred Books of the East, must have been abandoned. He felt the same about the Wardenship of All Souls, for which some of his friends urged him to stand, and which became vacant this year, by the death of his relative. Dr. Leighton.

Max Muller was appointed a Curator of the Bodleian for the second time towards the close of this year.

To Dr. Tylor.

November 7.

'No, the Wacht am Rhein [Google translate: Watch on the Rhine] was not my father’s; it is of later date. The poet seems to have been little known, but he received, I believe, some pension from Government before he died. I believe his name was Muller, if that is a gnaman, I wish you would stand for the Bodleian Librarianship, or for part of Rolleston’s Professorship.’

On November 9 Max Muller received an invitation from Cambridge to deliver a set of lectures there in the next Lent Term on some Indian subject, with special view to the Indian Civil Service students. The invitation was accepted, and was the origin of the seven lectures India — What can it teach us?

From the time of his return from Paris Max Muller had been printing his translation of Kant, which he had finished in the summer. Many of his friends wondered at his 'wasting his time on a mere translation.’ He has fully answered their objections in the noble preface to the translation, where also he mentions his own indebtedness to Kant: —

‘While I am looking at the last lines I have written, it may be the last lines that I shall ever write on Kant, the same feeling comes over me which I expressed in the preface to the last volume of my edition of the Rig-veda and its ancient Commentary. I feel as if an old friend, with whom I have had many communings during the sunny and during the dark days of life, was taken from me, and I should hear his voice no more. The two friends, the Rig-veda and Kant's Critique of Pure Reason, may seem very different, and yet my life would have been incomplete without the one, as without the other. The bridge of thoughts and sighs that spans the whole history of the Aryan world has its first arch in the Vedas, its last in Kant’s Critique. While in the Veda we may study the childhood, we may study in Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason the perfect manhood of the Aryan mind.’

A second edition of Max Muller’s translation was called for, and was brought out in 1896, with the help of Dr. Adickes, who not only gave Max the benefit of all the important new readings and emendations which he was incorporating into his own standard edition, but also pointed out passages where he felt the exact meaning of Kant’s ambiguous style had not been correctly rendered.

To Professor Tyndall.

Oxford, December 19.

'I have received an invitation to attend a meeting of the Carlyle Monument Committee on the 22nd. It is almost impossible for me to go to London, nor do I think that I can be of much use. But I am quite decided on one point — we must not allow ourselves to be beaten. If you meet a flock of geese chattering and hissing, the only thing to be done is to walk straight through them. What you have to consider therefore, if there is still a deficiency, is whether some of us should go to Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool and collect, or whether we should appeal to Germany and America.

'Secondly, we ought to find out for how little a good bronze statue can be produced. I spoke to a first-rate artist at Dresden, who has put up several colossal statues in bronze (he is married to an Englishwoman), and I understood him to say that it could be done for £1,300. Will Mr. Boehm do it for that, and, if not, are we bound to him, and cannot we apply to anybody else?

‘I am full of work just now — five proof-sheets a day. However, I hope Kant will be out in January, and then I shall be free again. Just now I feel like a tunnel with three or four trains rushing and foaming against each other.’

In his Christmas letter to his mother he shows how much his work often weighed upon him. ‘We march forwards as long as we can, and when at last "Halt!” is called, we are glad to rest!'

All through the early months of 1883 Max Muller was busy preparing for his lectures on ‘India’ for Cambridge. Two of them were also to be given at Birmingham, at the Midland Institute.

As a New Year’s gift a beautiful paper was sent to him, Leaders of Modern Thought — F. Max Muller, giving an account of his life and works, and the spirit that had influenced those works. Some notable extracts follow: —

'We all, as Max Muller has well said, make for ourselves a life-plan; we all belong to an army, and carry a war-plan in our heads, which decides and guides us in the choice of our own march. Here is a scholar who belongs to the noble army of those who fight for the conquest of truth in the battle-field of man’s spiritual being, and when he asks himself, what is the right, or at least the most fruitful method in the study of man, he soon becomes convinced that, in order to know what man is, we must, before all things, consider what man has hem and how he has become what he is. And what has made the poet’s son the pride of those in England and Germany who say with Pope, The proper study of mankind is man”? It is his ‘‘godly enthusiasm,” the deep, poetic glow, that "infinite susceptivity,” and, above all, unflinching loyalty to truth which pervade all his work, and which carry us away with an irresistible charm, so that he has become a veritable [x]!'

After a sketch of Muller’s life, the article ends thus: —

'Many are the roads along which the nations have passed on their march to the City of God, and it is to surveying and mapping them out that this great leader of modern thought is devoting the rest of his life, which, let us hope, may be a long one. “To watch the dawn of religious consciousness in mankind must always remain one of the most inspiring and hallowing sights in the whole history of the world; and he whose heart cannot quiver with the first quivering rays of human thought and human faith is unfitted for the study.” Yes, brave heart, noble and beautiful words: work on, and God be with thee!

‘To him who, on a memorable occasion, asked in stirring tones: “Hab’ich mich je in England als Fremden betrachtet1 [‘Have I ever felt myself a stranger in England?']?” let us ever say, No, and we hope you never will!’

Though adverse criticism moved him very little, discriminating appreciation of his work was a spur and incentive to his affectionate nature, and cheered him on through many a tough and dry bit of work, whilst each year the solemn feeling deepened that the time left him might be short, and there was ‘still so much to do.’ He writes in January to his wife:—

‘To delight in doing one’s work in life, that is what helps one on, though the road is sometimes very stiff and tiring — uphill rather it would seem than downhill, and yet downhill it is.’

To Mr. Nanjio.

January 1.

'I was very glad to have your wishes for the New Year, and the two Chinese poems, which I shall keep as a remembrance when you are gone. I hope the work you are doing will bear fruit by-and-by. Though we cannot understand how our deeds ripen, they certainly do ripen, and good work bears good fruit, and bad work bears bad fruit. That is a very old lesson, but there are few better lessons to learn and preach. I have been very busy of late, and have not been able to help you as much as I wished, but I hope we shall now begin again to work in good earnest.’

To B. Malabari, Esq.

Oxford, 29.

‘As I told you on a former occasion, my thoughts while writing these lectures [the Hibbert] were with the people of India. I wanted to tell those few at least whom I might hope to reach in English, what the true historical value of their ancient religion is, as looked upon, not from an exclusively European or Christian, but from an historical point of view. I wished to warn against two dangers, that of undervaluing or despising the ancient national religion, as is done so "often by your half-Europeanized youths, and that of overvaluing it, and interpreting it as it was never meant to be interpreted, of which you may see a painful instance in Dayananda Sarasvati’s labours on the Veda. Accept the Veda as an ancient historical document, containing thoughts in accordance with the character of an ancient and simple-minded race of men, and you will be able to admire it, and to retain some of it, particularly the teaching of the Upanishads, even in these modern days. But discover in it “steam-engines and electricity, and European philosophy and morality,” and you deprive it of its true character, you destroy its real value, and you break the historical continuity that ought to bind the present to the past Accept the past as a reality, study it and try to understand it, and you will then have less difficulty in finding the right way towards the future.

‘From letters I have received I know that my Hibbert Lectures have been read in India. In fact, one of the best reviews of them appeared in the Theistic Quarterly Review, published in Calcutta. It was written by Protap Chunder Mozoomdar. But the number of people born in India who can read English, though growing from year to year, is still small, and it was therefore a great satisfaction to me when I heard from you that there was a chance of my lectures being translated into some of the Indian languages.

‘Accept now my sincere thanks for all you have done, and for what you still mean to do.’

To Mr. Nanjio.

February 8.

‘I can assure you it has been a real pleasure to me to have had you and your friend Kasawara as my pupils. I must sometimes have seemed impatient to you, but you know that it was only due to my wishing you to get on more rapidly. I can quite believe that you found Sanskrit very difficult, but you have mastered it now so far, that if you had to leave Oxford, which I hope will not yet be for a while, you will be able to get on by yourself. I always hope that you have some great and useful work before you when you return to Japan. Every one of us must try in his own sphere to be a real Buddha, devoting his life to the good of other people. I know you will do that, and that the work which we have done together will bear some fruit, even after we are called away from this life.’

The following letter contains the first idea of a collected edition of Max Muller’s works, though it was many years before the idea was carried out, and the History of Sanskrit Literature was never written, if a new work was intended. Nor was a new edition of Ancient Sanskrit Literature published, Max Muller feeling he had not time to read up the books written on the subject since 1861.

To C. J. Longman, Esq.

February 9.

‘I wish very much to be guided by your advice as to a collected edition of my works. I am at work on a course of lectures on Ancient India, to be delivered at Birmingham and at Cambridge; they will grow into a book. And if life lasts I have a final book on the Logos, Language, and Reason, on the stocks, which will finish my work. Now you know best what is the right thing to do. The History of Sanskrit Literature will take me more than a year to prepare, so we might have the new edition of the Lectures at once, and the next volume in the autumn.'

About this time began the correspondence, extending over many years, with Mr. Horatio Hale of Ontario: unfortunately but few of the letters on either side have been preserved.

To Horatio Hale, Esq.

February 14.

'It is a great pleasure to me to receive your letter and your paper on Hiawatha) that paper is full of instructive hints, particularly as bearing on the state of so-called savages, before they are brought in contact with so-called civilized men. Such evidence is, from the nature of the case, very difficult to obtain, and therefore all the more valuable. To my mind the structure of such a language as the Mohawk is quite sufficient evidence that those who worked out such a work of art were powerful reasoners and accurate classifiers. But it was evidently not in language only that savages had achieved great things, but, as you show, in political organization also and in family laws. I often wonder that so few American scholars work at these Indian Antiquities, as if they were less interesting than Sanskrit or Hebrew, and I hope indeed that you will find time to arrange what you have collected for publication. In many respects savages were much wiser in arranging their passage through life than we are; our struggle for life has become far more savage than theirs was. Still it is very difficult to come to a clear conception of the ascending and descending scales of civilization, and the traces of the fallen angel and the rising ape are curiously mixed together. Language is the greatest puzzle; for if that is to be looked upon as the work of ascending monkeys, we get so near the edge of the glacial period that no gorilla could have lived, much less invented gerunds and supines.'

Early in March Max Muller delivered his two lectures before the Midland Institute at Birmingham, and then returned home to finish the course for Cambridge.

The following shows some of the difficulties with which Max Muller had to contend as editor of the Sacred Books of the East, The Manu was undertaken by Professor Buhler, and forms Vol. I of Series II = Vol. XXV.
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To Professor Buhler.

Translation, April 25.

‘ . . . I received to-day a letter from Burnell, who, after all, is giving up his translation of the Manu. He has kept me for six years in uncertainty about it.

‘Now before I write about it to others, I should like to ask you first of all whether you will undertake the Manu, and, if possible, before the Yagnavalkya Parasara? Jolly wants to publish a text; he has undertaken, besides that, some other Smritis, as you see. I should therefore like best a translation from your hand, not only because it would be the best one, but also because you would finish it sooner than anybody else. Jolly is going as Tagore Professor to Calcutta, and his literary work will, I fear, suffer a little. So think about it, and send me a speedy answer. You have, in any circumstances, time till the summer of 1884.'

The hard work was telling on Max Muller, and yet he could give himself no leisure. He seldom worked at this time less than ten hours a day, not counting the time that went in correspondence.

To His Daughter Beatrice (who had spent the winter in Paris).

April 18, 1882.

'My dear old Pussy, — I was so pleased with your letter that I want just to write a few lines to you, though Mama will be with you soon. I know you will enjoy your time together at Paris, and you ought by this time to be a capital guide. Yet, as you say, there is no place like home, and no happiness like happiness at home. I want you to do your very best to make our home bright and happy. You know how we love you, and how devoted your mother is to all of you. Young as you are, you know how quick this life passes away, and how suddenly often those whom we love best are taken from us. Therefore let us try not to waste one day or one hour — to think of others more than of ourselves, never to be hasty or harsh. Life has many troubles and sorrows: let us try not to add to them ourselves. You know what I mean, and I know you will do your best to make our home bright and happy. I shall have very hard work before you come home, and hope to get through it without any interruption. Mary will be gone before you come back, so you will have to be Martha, and help Mama as much as you can.

'Ever your loving Father.'

To His Mother.

Translation. April 19, 1882.

'Here in England my translation of Kant is much discussed, and praised and blamed. I am not at all disturbed by such things, but work on quietly. Next month I go to Cambridge, and have still a good deal to do for my lectures, and am often very tired and languid. We can make no plans for the summer, till I see a little more clearly ahead with my most pressing work. It is often almost too much for me, but one cannot refuse the work when it comes to one.’

Happily he had less call on his time this spring in the way of social duties; his daughters were both away for music' and painting lessons, and his son at school.

In April he writes to tell his elder daughter that he had been to London to attend Darwin’s funeral in Westminster Abbey: —

April 27, 1882.

'Darwin’s funeral was a great gathering, though not so great as when Stanley was buried. It was the mourning of the mind in Darwin’s case, in Stanley's the mourning of the heart.’

To Professor Buhler

Translation, April 29.

‘ . . . I have sent, some time ago, a request to the Japanese Government, that my two Buddhists might be sent to India, Nepal, Tibet, and China, in order to look for MSS. They are quite prepared for this now, and, being priests, they hope to get admittance everywhere. But it must all be kept very secret. I am full of hope, though I may not live to see the fulfilment. . . .'[/quote]

The hope expressed here was never fulfilled. Kasawara died soon after his return to Japan from ill health in this very year; and Bunyiu Nanjio, though sent to India and Corea to look for MSS., has not yet been sent to Tibet.

To His Daughter Mary.

May 5.

'I have always been glad that you took to music, and it gives me great pleasure to listen to your playing and think of the time when I was young and enjoyed nothing so much as music. There is also a higher kind of music which we all have to learn, if our life is to be harmonious, beautiful, and useful. There are certain intervals between the young and the old which must be there, which are meant to be there, without which life would be monotonous, but out of these intervals and varieties the true art of life knows how to build up perfect harmonies. ... My life is often a life of great effort, and probably will be so to the end, ... but when I think of other families, I feel how grateful we all ought to be for our quiet happy home. There lies one great sorrow on us, but even that may be a blessing, by drawing some of our affections away from this life to a better life — of which, it is true, we know nothing, but from which, when we see the wisdom and love that underlie this life, we may hope everything. We are meant to hope and to trust, and that is often much harder than to see and to know. I say again that the greatest of all arts is the art of life, and the best of all music the harmony of spirits. There are many little rules to be learnt for giving harmony and melody to our life, but the thorough bass must be — love.’

In May the lectures began in Cambridge, where Max Muller spent some weeks, being joined after a time by his wife and daughters. The lectures were crowded, and the whole visit was one of great enjoyment and refreshment. Especially delightful to Max Muller was the society of his old friend Professor Cowell, who wrote on his friend’s return to Oxford, to tell him how greatly he had enjoyed the lectures, and felt sure they would do good, in creating a new interest in the subject. ‘You have helped to stir people up, and set them thinking and inquiring.’  

Professor Cowell entirely agreed with Max Muller as to the early age at which Indian civil servants were and are chosen. ‘I sometimes fear,’ he says, 'that our civilians are selected at too early an age to have developed literary tastes, but your lectures will rouse them, if anything can, to take a real interest in ancient India.’

The following letter refers to this time: —

To Mrs. Max Muller.

Bangalore, December 25, 1901.

'I do not know whether you still remember it, but I had the pleasure and privilege of passing a few hours in the company of your late illustrious husband in the middle of May, 1882, at your hospitable residence in Oxford. To you and to your husband it was only one of the numerous visits Indians of all castes and creeds, of all shades and colours, paid to the great Rishi of Oxford, but to me it has been one of the most memorable incidents of my whole life. I still preserve as sacred and valuable relics two or three letters which he kindly wrote to me when I arrived in London. In one ... he invites me to Cambridge to hear him deliver the series of lectures which have since become famous — India. These letters I jealously guard from any mishap or accident. . . . The relations between England and India are becoming closer every day, and no man has contributed so much to bring them nearer in mind^ hearty and soul as your late illustrious husband. To have lost such a friend and companion is a gap that can never be filled up. Allow me to assure you that your sorrows are deeply and sincerely shared by the Hindus. May the New Year bring some new consolation!

'Yours sincerely,

'Nishikanta Chattopadhyaya.'

The lecture on the 'Truthfulness of the Hindus’ attracted special attention and discussion, both at the time it was delivered, and afterwards when the whole work was published. Max Muller fully entered into the feelings of Thoreau, ‘It takes two to speak truth — one to speak, and another to hear.’ Of course, the assertion that, never having been in India, he could be no judge of the matter, was made over and over again, both in public print and in private letters. The Times, in reviewing the book, stated that 'One of the first lessons which a civil servant has to learn is to distrust native testimony. . . . Perjury is in the Indian air.’ It was therefore all the more gratifying to Max Muller to receive a letter from no less an authority than Sir Lewis Pelly, saying that he agreed with nearly every line of that particular lecture. Sir Lewis says: ‘Individually I have found among Hindus, Mussulmans, Armenians, and Jews, the most simple and practical good will and fidelity, and in looking back on a long service in India, Persia, and Afghanistan, my sole regret is that, owing partly to ignorance, ... I did not more thoroughly appreciate my Eastern friends.’ Max Muller also heard from a gentleman who had been for many years in a large house of business in Calcutta, who writes: ‘I have ever been saying, in an imperfect way, what you say in a perfect and thorough way about our Indian brethren. I found all of them so -lovable and honest; and never suffered loss through one of them to the value of a knife.’ The Indian Mirror reprinted this particular lecture, which was read with warm appreciation in every part of India, and added greatly to the affection felt there for Moksha Mulara. The lecture called forth innumerable letters, not only from India, many of them couched in quaint language, but also from English and Scotch clerks and employes in many of the great commercial houses throughout India, endorsing Max Muller’s views, and speaking with genuine admiration and appreciation of the natives with whom they were in constant contact.

To Professor Buhler.

Translation. June 8.

'... I am grateful to you that you have relieved me of the anxiety about Manu, I have given notice to the Delegates, and as an agreement about Manu had been made years ago, it is unnecessary to make another with you, unless you wish for it. . . . I had become responsible particularly for the Law-Books, and it was unfortunate not to be able to carry out my programme. Sir H. Maine has just read a paper at the Royal Institution on the “Sacred Laws of the Aryas," where he attacks me for having fixed the date of Manu at 1300 A.D., and I only said “it did not appear earlier than the fourth century A.D.” . . . My little Buddhists are as accurate as machines: I have only discovered one mistake in their work, and even that seems to me to be a mistake of the printer....

'I always feel the want of time to master the tremendous material on all sides, and work cannot be done so briskly as in former times.'

The following letter is in reply to one from Messrs. Longmans, who were anxious to put their firm more in touch with the school-book trade in India: —

July 1.

'I think your plan is excellent, if you can find a really intelligent traveller. The persons responsible for every kind of school in India are the Directors of Education in each Presidency. You see the work they do in the Annual Reports presented to Government. These are to be seen at the India Office. The Universities at Calcutta, and the various Colleges at Bombay, Poona, Madras, Benares, Allahabad, Lahore, &c., are represented by senates and chancellors, but the persons to apply to for information would be the Registrars. There is a publishing department under each Director of Education, and you can see from the published reports how much they spend, and what books they patronize. I believe these book departments have not answered well, and in several cases they are to be discontinued. Dr. Leitner, Registrar of the Punjab University, told me so, and I see from the papers that the Punjab University has just appointed me Honorary President of a Publishing Committee, to be established in connexion with the Oriental College at Woking; what that means I do not know yet. Anyhow, the question of school-books is being agitated at the present moment, and an able agent might do good service. I ought to tell you that I have long urged the Clarendon Press to establish depots in India. I tell you this that you may not suspect me of serving two masters. If you want any further information, I shall be glad to give it. Letters of introduction to the various Governors would, of course, be useful. I dare say you know Mr. Grant Duff and Lord Reay. I know the Registrar of Bombay, Mr. Peterson, and at Lahore, Dr. Leitner, and at Benares, Dr. Thibaut. The Missionary Schools might also be approached through the Missionary Societies in London.'

To His Mother.

Translation, Old Windsor, July 9.

‘This whole week we have been on the move, and are now paying a Visit in the country not far from Windsor and Eton, at Sir Charles Murray's, whom you may remember as English Minister in Dresden. W. comes to-day from Eton, and stays till to-morrow. B. is also here. Our host is a most interesting man, and the house is full of beautiful things. Last Monday we were in London for a great wedding: a cousin of G.'s, a young clergyman, married a daughter of the Duke of Argyll. It was a beautiful wedding. Then we were invited to Harrow, to the Speech Day, and to a party at the Archbishop of Canterbury's, and the great evening party at the Royal Academy. So you see how it goes. I could not stand it long. We stay here till Monday, and then I hope for rest in Oxford. . . . You don’t remember how old I am, and that one's old body does not bear as much as formerly. My work, too, does not go as easily as it once did, and yet I have so much to do. New editions of old books, the twelfth of my Lectures on Language, and two other books, the Hibbert Lectures, and the Introduction to the Science of Religion, Then my lectures at Cambridge must be printed. In fact, it is often too much, and I hardly know how the time goes.’

The following was written on this visit in Lady Murray's album by Max Muller: —

The Grange, 10, 1882.

'It is well that there should be here and there a few pure and bright and loving eyes that can only see what is pure and bright and lovely in this world. It is well that there should be here and there a few truly musical souls that can perceive through discords, which jar on other ears, the higher harmonies to which all discords are meant to lead. But for such eyes as discern the perfect in the imperfect, and for such ears as catch the higher harmonies in passing discords, life would seem a confused scrawl— mere noise and tumult. The human soul can lend its own purity, brightness, and loveliness to everything which it sees and hears, and, like the dawn, lift the dark veil of the night and spread its own heavenly splendour over the face of the earth, and light up, and warm, and quicken every heart that comes within its reach.

‘F. Max Muller.'

On returning from this visit, Max decided not to go abroad at all this year, but stay in Oxford at work. His children preferred doing so, and a very happy Long Vacation was spent in their own home. Oxford was by no means deserted, and picnics and lawn-tennis parties and long days on the river made the time fly by to the young people, whilst the busy father worked on in his quiet library, sharing in all their pleasures whenever he could spare the time.

It was in this year that Max Muller was elected a Perpetual Delegate of the Press. He took deep interest in the work, and was assiduous in attending the meetings, till he resigned in 1896.

To The Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone.  

7, Norham Gardens, Oxford, 13, 1883.

'Allow me to thank you for what you said last night about Prince Louis Lucien Buonaparte. I am sorry to hear that the Prince required this assistance. I remember him as a wealthy, independent man, and I know he might have had a great deal more if, by a kind of honourable instinct, he had not kept aloof, as much as possible, from the Napoleonic Court. I was at Oxford when he was made a D.C.L. The Prince has done excellent work. He has been chiefly a collector, but his materials will last and will be consulted long after many of the now popular theories on the Science of Language shall have passed away. I have seldom known a French scholar so hard-working, so persevering, and withal so modest. He ought to be proud in accepting from your hands, and from the English nation, what he was too proud to accept from his Imperial cousins.

‘I enclose a short article containing my translation of “God save the Queen” into Sanskrit. I have submitted it to the few remaining native scholars in India, and shall not publish it definitely, before I have received their remarks. I have many friends among educated natives in India, and they speak and write to me, perhaps, more freely than to others. Nothing, I may say, has given me so much confidence in the future of India, as the thorough appreciation of Lord Ripon’s sober government by the people of India. I am not thinking so much about the so-called Ilbert Bill, as about the preceding years when I felt very doubtful whether, after the rather Oriental regime of Lord Lytton, Lord Ripon's quiet industry, honesty, and far-seeing statesmanship would be appreciated. I believe there is a strong desire in India that Lord Ripon should remain, and, great as the sacrifice might be, it would, I believe, not be too great for the interests which are at stake. There is, as yet, less commotion in India than there would have been, if those most concerned were not convinced that Lord Ripon will never yield to sentimental, not to say selfish or partisan clamour.

‘I wish Mr. Mozoomdar, who is now in England, could have seen you. He is the right hand of Keshub Chunder Sen, and in intellect is far the stronger of the two, though most loyal to his leader, who is over-excited and occasionally strange in his utterances. Still, they are working in the right direction, and it is a pleasure to help them in ploughing, sowing, and watering, though we can never hope to see the harvest.'

To His Mother.

Translation. July 23, 1882.

‘It is an experience that comes to one only late in life, how gladly many people welcome death. I am seeing an old man here, whose mind is still quite vigorous, but he speaks of his death as of a quite ordinary event. And so indeed it is — nothing more ordinary than birth and death. The sad thing is when the old are left, and the young go first. . . . My work grows over my head!'

To Mr. Nanjio.

July 23.

'Perhaps when you are in Japan you may be able to publish the Sanskrit text of the Saddharma-pundarika. I shall quite miss you when you are gone, but I hope your stay in Oxford has not been in vain, and that you will help your countrymen forward, though not quite so fast as they seem to be going at present. I still hope to find time to publish the Sukkavati-Vyuha before you return to Japan, but I want to publish it jointly with you, so as to have your name on the title- page with my own, and I hope to be able to do the same for the Dharma-Samgraha with Kasawara, so that there will be a permanent memorial of your stay at Oxford, and of our work during the last three years. If only I had a little more time!'

During the summer the Parsi, Mr. Malabari, who had made himself well known in connexion with the question of infant marriages in India, conceived the plan of getting Max Muller’s Hibbert Lectures translated into the vernaculars of India. He could not defray the whole expense himself, and hoped to do so by collecting money in the chief cities of India. He was at once encouraged by receiving 1,000 rupees from the enlightened Maharanee of Cossimbazar. He himself undertook the Gujarati translation, and made arrangements for translations into Sanskrit, Bengali, Marathi, Hindi, and Tamil.

One more visit was paid during the vacation, to Max Muller’s brother-in-law at Taplow. ‘We were forty-two relations in church to-day,’ he writes to his mother. Bathing in the Thames was the great amusement during this visit, Max Muller’s daughters being expert swimmers and divers.

To Mr. Bellows.

Taplow, August 21.

‘I am always glad when I hear from you, and I only wish it was oftener. But we seem to be growing more busy with every year, instead of finding more rest. Your business, you say, is large; so is mine, as you will believe when I tell you that at the present moment I have nine volumes passing through the Press— not all my own, yet all entrusted to my care. I hope to find your paper when I return to Oxford. Your study of Barclay’s Apology might be useful to students of the English language if you were to send your observations on the change of meaning in certain words to Dr. Murray, editor of the great English Dictionary to be published by the University Press. He would be most grateful for them, I hope you and yours are quite well; your little Max must be grown up by this time. My boy is at Eton; my two daughters grown up; my wife well, and I myself as well as, at my time of life, I have any right to expect.’

In September this year Dr. Pusey passed away. In spite of their almost diametrically opposite views on theological questions, Max Muller had long felt the force of Dr. Pusey’s character, who, in his turn, showed in many ways his appreciation of his younger colleague’s gifts and attainments. The following letter to the editor of the Times shows the feeling the two men entertained for each other: —[/quote]

Oxford, September 23, 1882.

‘Sir,— You are no doubt quite right in what you say, in your important article of to-day on the future of Hebrew scholarship at Oxford, that “Dr. Pusey was kept aloof by his theological prepossessions from Ewald and all his school." But it may interest you to hear that, in one sense at least, Dr. Pusey was a pupil of Ewald’s. Professor Ewald, the last time he was staying with me at Oxford, told me that when Pusey was studying in Germany, he (Dr. Ewald) acted as his private tutor in Hebrew. When Professor Ewald paid his last visit to Oxford, then an old man, but working twelve hours every day in the Radcliffe Library, and complaining every evening that the Library was not open long enough, he expressed a wish to see Dr. Pusey, and to renew his acquaintance with him. Unfortunately Dr. Pusey was not at Oxford at the time, but when he returned and I told him of Dr. Ewald's wish, a kindly smile played round his lips, and he said he would have been most glad to see him. I did not often trouble him with foreign visitors, but whenever distinguished scholars wished to be introduced to him, he was always ready to receive them, and to receive them with a courteousness peculiarly his own. I shall never forget a long and deeply-interesting conversation which he had with Keshub Chunder Sen. They had a long struggle, but they parted as friends.

‘Dr. Pusey, as we all know, could be as intolerant as Athanasius, but, apart from what you call his theological prepossessions, he always retained through life a genuine respect for real scholarship, even for that much derided “original research." He often showed the warmest sympathy for true and earnest students in every field of Oriental philology. He took a deep interest in the discoveries of cuneiform scholars, and fully appreciated their bearing on Hebrew scholarship. He cared to know what the Veda and the Avesta had to teach us, and he was not afraid of new sciences, such as Comparative Philology and Comparative Mythology. Even when he had no time to study new subjects himself, he was always anxious to hear the latest news.

‘Almost the last lines I had from him were meant to express his approval of the Sacred Books of the East. No one would have been surprised if the editor of the Library of the Fathers of the Christian Church had objected to this new Library of the Founders and Fathers of all Non-Christian Churches being published by the University Press. Far from it. "I was very glad," he wrote, “to see the plan of translations in which your name appears. It must he of good service; hut the older one grows, the narrower one's little pyramid becomes, if it is not too absurd to speak of a pyramid at all, except to say that in one’s old age one has to add only little stones."

‘Your obedient Servant,

'F. Max Muller.'

To Horatio Hale, Esq.

October 8.

‘Yes, I received your letters and the Montreal newspaper, and felt much interested in both. I feel sure that you will be doing a real service to scholars, if you can arouse a truly scientific interest in the study of American languages among your countrymen, but the study must be taken up in a scholarlike spirit. It requires not less, but not more accuracy than Greek and Latin. I wish I had a young army of scholars about me, and could order them about to explore where I know that treasures are to be found, though I am too old to dig for them. If anything I have said to you can help towards stirring up young explorers, please make any use you like of it. I had some correspondence with a gentleman who is preparing a Grammar of the Mohawk language. I sent him what I had collected myself from the mouth of a Mohawk here at Oxford.’

Some time after the Queen had assumed the title of Empress of India, a society was formed in London, called ‘The National Anthem for India Fund.' Their object was to collect the best translations of ‘God save the Queen’ in the various vernaculars of India, so as to spread the knowledge and use of the National Anthem throughout that vast country. The committee numbered among its members many names of distinction, but the most active among them was Canon F. Harford. Rajah Surindro Mohun Tagore, a great authority on Indian music, was applied to for help, with several other distinguished Hindus. Though Sanskrit is no longer a living language, as it still serves as a medium of communication between learned natives of different parts of India, just as Latin was used in Europe in the Middle Ages, it was felt there must be a Sanskrit translation. Max Muller had not been asked to help, but the Sanskrit translation sent in having no rhymes, was to Max Muller’s musical ear incapable of being used to the well-known air of the National Anthem. He had himself made a Sanskrit translation, which he submitted to a Pundit at that time in England, and to many of the most learned Sanskrit scholars in Europe. He then sent the perfected translation to his friend Keshub Chunder Sen, with an explanatory letter. Max Muller sent his translation to the London committee, and Canon Harford wrote, ‘A thousand thanks for the beautiful Sanskrit, which goes perfectly to the measure of the English words and music,' and he also calls it ‘an admirable translation.' His translation was sent to the Queen, who took much interest in the whole project, and it was Max Muller's translation that was, by Her Majesty’s special desire, used at the opening of the Colonial and Indian Exhibition in the Albert Hall in 1886, when the second verse of the National Anthem was sung in Sanskrit, notwithstanding the machinations of some of Max Muller's detractors and enviers, who tried to alter the arrangement made by the Queen herself, by saying that it was invidious to choose Sanskrit and leave out Persian and Arabic, also spoken in India. The correspondence still exists, and the animus is very clear. Her Majesty did not agree to the change desired, and therefore Max Muller’s translation of the second verse was sung.

To aid the National Anthem Fund a concert was given at Grosvenor House, in which the different translations were sung to the various arrangements of the air by Costa, Cusins, Arne, Rajah S. M. Tagore, Dr. Bull, Turle, Benedict, and Bridge; one of the solos being sung by H.H. Princess Hellan Singh, expressly to show that native ears and voices could accommodate themselves to Western music.

To show how well Max Muller had preserved the rhythm and swing of the tune, we give his Sanskrit translation: —

God Save the Queen.

Ragnim prasadinim: The Queen, the gracious,
Lokapranadinim: World-renowned,
Pahisvara: Save, O Lord!
Lakshoniprabhasinim: In victory brilliant,
Satruprahasinim: At enemies smiling,
Tam dirghansasinim: Her, long ruling,
Pahisvara: Save, O Lord!
Ehy asmadisvara: Approach, O our Lord,
Satrun pratiskira: Enemies scatter,
Ukkhinddhi tan: Make them fall!
Takkhadma nasaya: Their fraud confound,
Mayaska pasaya: Tricks restrain,
Pa;hy asmadasraya: Protect, O thou, our refuge,
Sarvan ganan: All people!
Tvadratnabhushitam: With thy choice gifts adorned,
Ragye kiroshitam: In the kingdom long-dwelling,
Pahisvara: Save, O Lord,
Ragyaprapalinim: Her, the realm protecting,
Saddharma-salinim: By good laws abiding,
Tam stotramalinim: Her, with praises wreathed,
Pahisvara: Save, O Lord!

The following flattering review of Max Muller’s translation appeared in an Indian paper the following year: —

‘Professor Max Muller’s love of poetry has led him to attempt a Sanskrit translation of “God Save the Queen.” For Sanskrit the rendering strikes us as being exceedingly simple and felicitous, though it is not full. Even if the author had not appended his name to the verses, they could only have been ascribed to a poet as well as a scholar possessed of keen musical, instincts. The translation, as a whole, is faithful without being servile. Max Muller has brought out the spirit of the Anthem more than its words, and yet its tune or tone approaches the original quite as much as the spirit. Most of the Sanskrit words are exact equivalents of the English, and what is more, some of these are classical Sanskrit taken bodily from the sacred literature of India! No reader of taste can help doing homage to the intellect which can grapple with the knottiest points of grammar, and yet find time to court the most timid of the graces.’

It was always a keen satisfaction to Max Muller, and repaid him for much hard labour, when he heard that his work was appreciated and of real use in India. Such a gratification came to him this year at the Inaugural Convocation of the Punjab University at Lahore, at which the Viceroy, Lord Ripon, was present In his speech on that occasion Lord Ripon said: —

‘I have been very much struck within the last few weeks by reading a remarkable paper, written by one who has a right to speak about Oriental literature: I allude to an article in a late number of the Contemporary Review by Professor Max Muller. If I were to speak of Indian Literature, Indian Philosophy, and Indian Science in the language in which Professor Max Muller speaks of them in that essay, doubtless I should be accused of exaggeration and partiality; but no man can bring any such charges against that learned person, who knows better than most people what he is talking about on this matter, and I commend to all those who have any doubt about the solidity of Oriental learning and the lessons it has to teach, not to India and to Orientals alone, but to Europeans also, to study the short essay to which I have adverted (cheers). Gentlemen, I thought it worth while just to put down a few words which Professor Max Muller employed in that article in reference to the study of Sanskrit. What does he say? He says: The study of Sanskrit will open before you — he was especially addressing young students about to come out to India in the Civil Service — “larger layers of literature, as yet almost unknown and unexplored, and allow you an insight into strata of thought, deeper than any you have known before, and rich in lessons that appeal to the deepest sympathies of the human heart.” Gentlemen, I need no other proof of the soundness of the policy pursued in the foundation of this University than is contained in these words of the great Oxford Professor.’

The Viceroy’s speech was commented on by most of the Indian papers, from one of which comes the following extract: —

‘It is now about nine weeks since we briefly noticed Professor Max Muller's Cambridge Lectures sent us in advance proofs. What we then said has been said again by the Times of India this week, said with more clearness and cogency, and to much better purpose. The time is coming for a real, living union between the West and the East, and Max Muller, if his valuable life lasts him, may live to be the officiating high-priest!

‘Lord Ripon’s reference at Lahore to the value of Max Muller’s work is of peculiar importance, not indeed because proceeding from the Viceroy of India, but because it is the deliberate utterance of a scholar and statesman who has thought deeply for himself, and who has acted up to his convictions as few Englishmen of the age have dared to act. There is not a common platform of thought between Professor Max Muller and the Marquis of Ripon; but one of these representatives of different schools is ready to recognize what is best in the public character of the other. It is only when we look for this spirit in India and find it not, that we fully realize the gulf between the intellectual status of Europe and of India. But, as we said above, those who are labouring to fill the gulf have no reason to despair.’

To Professor Noire.

Translation. Oxford, November 19, 1882.

‘Two books are finished, the third I am still working at. I have had much to disturb me. . . . Family cares are cares of which you know nothing; all that leaves you much freer. One of my Japanese pupils has returned to Japan. Three other Japanese are on their way here, one has arrived already; they all want to learn Sanskrit. Will that seed sprout some day? However, it gives me an insight into human nature, which it is not always easy to obtain. They are the orbits of small planets, but very perfect in their own sphere. I am publishing a large book with one of the Japanese, a full catalogue of the Buddhistic Bible, as they read it in China and Japan. It will be ready this year. I hear so little of Kant here now. The philosophers in England are against him — he does not suit them. However, that cannot be helped, they will have to hear of him. The difficulty lies with the public — if that is lazy, as it is here, how can one expect that they will read Kant? They read Mill and Spencer; that is less weighty and is also called philosophy. Well, ’we must not expect the impossible. Times get more and more shallow, I do not quite know why.'

To Lady Welby.

December 13.

'Your note is quite right, only instead of saying that holy is the same word as whole and hale, it would be more accurate to say that they are closely connected or derived from the same source.

‘Heiland is the Old Saxon Heljand, i.e. the Heal-ing or Healer, he who makes whole, for to heal also is derived from the same root.

‘Your lines about Shadow and Substance remind me of Plato's parable of the Cave. Do you know it?’

To Klaus Groth.

Translation. December 17.

‘My dear old Friend, — By chance the Gegenwart came into my hands, and with it your last poem, “Min Port." I know your port, and I know how much of what is good and beautiful goes in and out there, and it brought back to me the remembrance of all the beautiful days at Dusternbrook. Well, the past is not passed; it belongs to us more than the present, we feed on it as long as we live — past happiness and past woe. We have just now lived through sad memories again; perhaps we may in time be able to bear it better, but the burden is very heavy still.

‘My children have grown up; my boy is fifteen and a half, and bigger than I, He thrives well, and the two girls give me much pleasure; my wife is well, and I — well, I get old and have still much to do, work that will never be finished, others will do it better.

‘And how are you and yours? Are there still any old friends left who remember us? What a happy time that was, no discord whatever! Yes, that is what life would be, if only human beings would let it be. Well, give our love to all, and any who may remember the birds of passage -- they are no more as swift as they were, but nevertheless they would dearly like to fly over the sea once more.

'New courage for the New Year; and a Happy Christmas, including the memories of past ones. Ever your faithful.'
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Re: The Life and Letters of The Right Hon. Friedrich Max Mul

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Death of mother. Stay at Dessau. The McCalls. Summer amusements. Bristol. The Wye. Ilbert Bill. Duffryn. Ramabai. Daughter’s marriage.

The New Year opened on Max Muller and his family quietly at home. It was a year of less incessant literary labour, little being worked at except the Sacred Books of the East.

To Moncure Conway, Esq.

Oxford, January 5.

'I do not like the expression, the Bibles of the World; and I believe I have never used the word Bible except with reference to the books of the Old and New Testament. It sounds to me conceited. We might as well speak of the Vedas, or the Korans of the World. However, I know it is a favourite expression, and has now become so common that it will be difficult to suppress it. I saw the other day that some Buddhists in Japan meant to start what they call a “Bible Society” for printing and distributing portions of the Tripitaka. I prefer to speak of “Sacred Books.” Strictly speaking, “ Sacred Books” are such only as have received some canonical sanction, and form a body of writings to which nothing could be added. They need not be considered of Divine origin or revealed, but they must have been formally recognized as authoritative by a religious body or their representatives. However, you know well that there are many books sacred which are not canonical, and it was in order not to exclude them from my series that I prefer the title Sacred Books of the East My first series of twenty-four volumes is almost finished; my second series of twenty-four volumes more than filled, and there will be work for many more series after we are gone.

'With best wishes for the New Year.'

To Dr. Prowe.

Translation. 7, Norham Gardens, Oxford, January 8, 1883.

'Your letter and your good wishes for the New Year have given me great pleasure; they reminded me of old times, which hardly seem to belong to us any more. How long the ways of life seemed then that lay before us, how short it seems now 1 Well, we will march on till we hear the call — Halt! What we cannot finish here, others that come after us will do better. I rejoice to hear that your Copernicus will soon be completed. I think it will be appreciated in England.

'I have just undertaken a new series of Sacred Books of the East, that will remain as a foundation for coming generations.

'I have also completed a volume of Lectures at Cambridge: India — What can it teach us? This, I think, will cause much discussion, for I have attributed the whole Sanskrit literature, with the exception of the Vedic, to the year 400 A.D.; for me they are just as interesting at this later date as at the earlier one, but it will be a severe blow to the old Indian pedants!

'We were all very well last year. I felt up to a great deal of work, so that I remained here during all the vacation. My old mother is young in mind, though her body is feeble from great age. I hope to go to Dessau this year and stay there for some time; but it becomes more and more difficult to disentangle oneself from all the threads here.

‘Our best congratulations on the engagement of your daughter. The separation is sure to be hard, but, though far from each other, one can remain united in spirit.

‘And so, with good luck for the New Year, I am always your old faithful.’ [/quote]

In sending the two following letters to the editor, Mr. Verney wrote: 'Here are two old letters from your dear husband, very characteristic, chiefly because of their kindness, but also from other points of view. The receipt of these letters was a turning- point in my life, and has directed it into the channel of my last seventeen years’ work. Constantly I feel the gap which his absence leaves in all sorts of ways. ... He was one of those men whose personality was the chief influence in his life— even greater, I think, than all his many achievements combined. The combination of young sympathy with mature and masterly work, was never more perfectly shown than in him. This is what gave him his personal influence over others.'

To F. Verney, Esq.

Oxford, January 16, 1883.

'My dear Verney, — The Siamese Minister, Prince Prisdang, wishes for an English secretary, adviser, guide, bear-leader, or whatever else you like to call it. He must be a man of business, man of the world, of good family and all that. Lastly, he must be able to speak and write French. The salary is, to begin with, £800 a year. I do not know whether you still find the law a Pool of Bethesda, and would think of applying for such an appointment It has its interesting sides, for the King of Siam and his two brothers are men of intelligence. One of them is working hard at Oxford. Please send me a line to say what you think of it, and how Mrs. Verney would like it. Kindest messages from all of us, and do pay us another visit here, if you can, if only for a Sunday.'

To The Same.

February 26.

' I am quite delighted to know that you consider the Siamese scheme likely to succeed. Nothing is so difficult as to find an Englishman who will treat an Oriental as an equal, as a gentleman; if you can do that, you will be surprised what good material there is in them. I may have been fortunate with Orientals, or it may be due to my having always treated them with respect and confidence, but I can honestly say that I have learned to respect and to love several of them. One thing I feel certain about, and that is, that they delight in being trusted, and you as a lawyer know what I mean — that it requires two people to speak the truth. Please come to us, when you can see the young Prince here. I like what I see of him, but I think he wants a freer and larger atmosphere to develop in; he sees very little of Oxford, and wants encouragement. He seems to me to come from a good stock. Kindest messages from all of us.'

To The Right Hon, W. E. Gladstone.

7, Norham January 18.

'Dear Mr. Gladstone, — I am afraid I am taking a very great liberty in sending you my last book on India. I must confess I have long wished for an opportunity of engaging your interest in behalf of India. I do not mean the mere surface India, with its grotesque religion, its pretty poetry, and its fabulous antiquity, but the real India that is only slowly emerging before our eyes; a whole, almost forgotten act in the great drama of humanity, very different from Greece, from Rome, from modern Europe, and yet not so different that in studying it we cannot feel that mutato nomine de nobis fabula narratur [Google translate: the story is told about us under a changed name]. The discovery of that real India, of that new intellectual hemisphere, is to my mind a far greater discovery than that of Vasco de Gama’s. It was a misfortune that all the early publications of Sanskrit texts belonged really to the Renaissance of Sanskrit literature. Kalidasa’s plays, which were supposed to be contemporaneous with Virgil, belong to the sixth century; the Laws of Manu, which Sir William Jones placed 1280 B.C., cannot be older than 300 A.D. But there was an older literature in India, the Vedic and the Buddhistic, which are only now being slowly disinterred, and it is there that we can watch a real growth from the simplest beginnings to the highest concepts which the human mind is capable of, it is^here that we can learn what man is, by seeing once more what man has been. As a very old admirer of yours, I should be glad if I could make you look at the work which Sanskrit scholars have lately been doing; but this is only one of many wishes, the fulfilment one may desire, but one hardly expects. In fact, I should not have ventured to say even so much, if I did not know that you have only to put my book aside, and may feel assured that I am not so unreasonable as to expect even a line of acknowledgement from your secretary. The one thing which every one in England wishes for you, is rest, well-earned rest; and asking your pardon for even this short interruption, I remain, with sincere respect,

'Your very old admirer.’

To Rev. G. Cox.

7, Norham Gardens, Oxford, February 13, 1883.

‘I have been wanting to write to you from day to day, but from day to day I could not find one quiet hour for a quiet letter, and even now I know I shall be interrupted before I have said half of what I wish to say.

‘I am glad that you have looked at my last book. I have tried to make it more complete than my former books, for it may be the last that I can write on that subject. I knew from former conversations that you did not see the true object of the Atman or Self, and I confess it is difficult to describe it. The beauty of the Hindu system seems to me to lie in this, that it does not anticipate the Atman, but allows in perfect honesty various stages or asramas leading to it. You remember that fine passage: All those who worship idols, worship me.” The doctrine of the Atman does not condemn religious mythology; it says, by all means call it Heaven, or Cause, or Father, or Judge — it is all that, but it is more. So you yourself, you are a child, a boy, a man, a woman, a father, a mother, an Englishman, a clergyman, a Christian; wise or foolish; good or bad; but all this has come, has begun, will change, and you are something else, something higher — what? the Self, the Spectator, the Witness, he who could look on while he seemed to be a son or a father, nay, who could see his Self in his fatherhood and childhood, but know himself distinct from all these phases. A man need not go into a cave, because he has found his true Self; he may live and act like everybody else; he is givan-mukta — “living, but free.” All remains just the same, except the sense of unchangeable, imperishable self which lifts him above the phenomenal self. He knows he is wearing clothes, that is all If a man does not see it, if some of his clothes stick to him like his very skin, if he fears that he might lose his identity by not being a male instead of a female, by not being English instead of German, by not being a child instead of a man, he must wait and work on. Good works lead to quietness of mind, and quietness of mind to true self-knowledge. Is it so very little to be only Self — to be the subject that can resist, i. e, perceive the whole universe, and turn it into his object? Can we wish for more than what we are, lookers-on — resisting what tries to crush us, call it force, or evil, or anything else?

'Well, this is about what an educated Hindu would say, who believed in the Vedanta, the end of the Veda; but if he heard you say that there is a Father who knows, a Ruler who rules, a Judge who will vindicate righteousness, he would say, Certainly, but there is more, there is a higher concept for all this. Mythology, religion, philosophy, all these are not illusions; they are stages, and right stages, as much as youth and spring are stages to manhood. We all mean the same, but we express it differently, and we are separated by such long periods of growth, that when a Japanese Buddhist speaks to me I cannot understand him, unless I go back for ages, begin with his beginnings, learn his language, i.e. the history of his thoughts. And now I must go to attend Henry Smith's funeral. Much of what he was, or seemed to be, will be hidden in the churchyard; his work will work on, for nothing can be lost; his Self, his Atman, that is where it always was, before it was incarnate on this atom of a planet, but where mythology ends, language ends, and all we can do is to be silent and to trust.'

The following letter from one of Max Muller’s most earnest admirers and friends in India is interesting, as showing the extraordinary memories possessed even to this day by natives of India. It was a point on which Max Muller often dwelt; but his statements occasionally seemed to some of his hearers as if they must be exaggerated. Here we have the same statements at first hand: —

From Shankar Pandurang Pandit.

Bombay, February 28, 1883.

‘Mr. Kane has kindly agreed to take the enclosed photograph to you from me. You will perhaps not recognize me sitting on a chair with a volume of your editio princeps [Google translate: high edition] of the Rig-veda, The most important figure in the group is the blind man who is sitting in front of me, on a stool covered with a panther skin. He was left blind — entirely blind — by a fell attack of smallpox when he was an infant. He is now about thirty-six years old, and lives with and on the kindness and bounty of his brother, a distinguished member of the Bombay Uncovenanted Civil Service. Blind Kesavabhatta, you will be interested to hear, is a most excellent Vaidik. He knows by heart the whole of the Rig-veda Samhita, the whole of the Aitareya Brahmana, the whole of Panini’s Ashtadhyayi, and the rest of the Dasa Granthas, He can repeat from beginning to end not only the Samhita text, but also the Pada-patha and the Krama-patha too. I have often examined him with your editions of the Samhita and Pada texts in my hands, and found him perfectly accurate in his recitations. He never requires any help to refresh his memory, but is always ready to begin wherever you like. You might tell him to begin at such and such chapter, giving him simply the numerical reference to the passage, and he will at once commence to recite from the passage you have before you in your book. No accent, no letter, no pause, no sound is misplaced, everything is recited in the most correct method. How do you think he managed to master the enormous quantity he can repeat backwards and forwards? His father devised an ingenious plan to educate him. He employed a Vaidik to teach him. He also kept a poor Brahman boy, who was brought up along with Kesavabhatta, and who, after the Vaidik Guru had given his lessons daily, sat down with his manuscript of the Veda to learn by heart the same with his blind companion. The latter thus learnt by rote whatever the Guru taught, and whatever his companion read out to him. After about twelve or thirteen years Kesavabhatta became the perfect Vaidik that he now is, and is in his turn a Vaidik teacher! Yours truly,

‘Shankar Pandurang Pandit.’

The following letter was written by Max Muller in reply to a letter from an American clergyman asking his name and influence in aid of the clergyman’s efforts to promote Catholicity among all the religions of the world. The letter was read at a ‘World’s Congress of Religions’ held soon after in New York, and which was the forerunner of the far larger ‘Parliament’ held at Chicago in 1893.

To The Rev. M. K. Schermerhorn.

Oxford, March 6, 1883.

‘It is always a great satisfaction to see the budding germs of the seed which one has helped to sow. I wish you all success in your endeavours after a religion of humanity, but success, to be solid, must not be too rapid. The true religion of the future will be the fulfilment of all the religions of the past — the true religion of humanity, that which, in the struggle of history, remains as the indestructible portion of all the so-called false religions of mankind. There never was a false god, nor was there ever really a false religion, unless you call a child a false man. All religions, so far as I know them, had the same purpose; all were links in a chain which connects heaven and earth, and which is held, and always was held, by one and the same hand. All here on earth tends toward right, and truth, and perfection; nothing here on earth can ever be quite right, quite true, quite perfect, not even Christianity — or what is now called Christianity — so long as it excludes all other religions, instead of loving and embracing what is good in each. Nothing, to my mind, can be sadder than reading the Sacred Books of mankind, and yet nothing more encouraging. They are full of rubbish; but among that rubbish there are old stones which the builders of the true Temple of Humanity will not reject — must not reject, if their Temple is to hold all who worship God in spirit, in truth, and in life.'

In this spring Max Muller had the satisfaction of seeing an important work, prepared by his Buddhist pupil Bunyiu Nanjio, published by the University Press at Oxford. It was a catalogue of the Chinese translation of the Buddhist Tripitaka, the immense literature which forms the Sacred Canon of the Buddhists in China and Japan, generally called the Northern Buddhists; and later in the year he himself, in collaboration with Mr. Nanjio, brought out in the Anecdota Oxoniensia the Sukhavati-Vyuha, the description of the Land of Bliss.

This year saw the beginning of an acquaintance which soon ripened into intimate friendship with an American family, who came to Oxford and brought introductions to the Max Mullers from Mr. Lowell, at that time American Minister in London. ‘They are just such countrywomen as I like to introduce to my English friends,' he wrote. Mrs. McCall and her two daughters spent the whole summer in Oxford, and were joined in the course of it by American friends of their own. For months the McCalls and Max Mullers met daily, and the pleasant, lively intercourse was a special enjoyment to Max Muller, and aided him in recovering from the heavy blow that fell on him in April, a blow which for years he had anticipated with dread.

Early in April, whilst staying at Hastings with his wife and son, he heard of the alarming illness of his old mother, followed immediately by a telegram announcing her death. He started directly for Dessau, and being this year in stronger health, he was not prostrated by grief, as he had been at the time of his sister's death, and those who loved and watched over him could see him go without real anxiety. He arrived in time to see her loved face once more, and, surrounded by every member left of a once large family, he laid her to rest in the vault where his father had been laid fifty-five and a half years previously.

To His Daughter Mary.

Dessau, April 18.

'I wish you had been able to see your dear grandmother once more, if only as I saw her, sleeping on flowers, covered with palm-branches, taking with her some faded tokens of her early happiness, unchanged, calm and beautiful. All that is of the earth is then forgotten, all the little failings inherent in human nature vanish from our minds; we only see what was good, unselfish, and loving in that soul, and we think with regret of how much more we might have done to requite that love. How different life might be, if in our daily intercourse and conversation we thought of our friends as lying before us on that last bed of flowers; how differently we should then judge, and how differently we should act. It is curious how forgetful we are of death, how little we think that we are dying daily, and that what we call life is really death, and death the beginning of a higher life. Such a thought should not make our life less bright, but rather more— it should make us feel how unimportant so many things are which we consider all- important: how much we could bear which we think unbearable, if only we thought that to-morrow, either we ourselves or our friends may be taken away, at least for a time. Even you, in your great happiness just now1 [She was just engaged to be married.], should think of death, should feel that what you call your own is only lent to you, and that all that remains as a real comfort is the good work done in this short journey, the true unselfish love shown to those whom God has given us, has placed near to us, not without a high purpose. Love, which seems so unselfish, may become very selfish, if we are not on our guard. Do not shut your eyes to what is dark in others, but do not dwell on it except so far as it helps to bring out more strongly what is bright in them, lovely and unselfish. The true happiness of true love is self-forgetfulness and trust. I have only a little space left to tell you that a father’s and a mother’s love is always ready for a child, and that it grows with every year, as I know that my dear mother’s love did for me, though I did not always deserve it.'

To His Daughter Beatrice.

Dessau, April 23, 1883.

'My dear Beatrice, — I knew that you would feel the death of your dear grandmother, for though you had not seen her often, and could not know much of her, you knew how fond she was of you. We are meant to live in three generations — grandparents, parents, and children; they have each their own purpose, and whensoever we lose one of them we feel that our life is changed.

'As long as my mother lived, I felt that I belonged to her; now I belong to no one, though others belong to me. You have no idea what a rich life hers has been, rich in joys, rich in sorrows, and rich in love and sympathy for others. In her very last letter to me she was full of interest as to your singing. She always hoped you would have a voice like hers. When she was your age she sang at some of the great musical festivals, admired by the best judges. Singing lessons were then paid four groschen a lesson— about sixpence, and yet people sang quite as well as now. I am glad to be able to stay here; it does me a great deal of good to be quite alone, and here in my dear mother’s old rooms I am surrounded by many memories. It is quite extra- ordinary to see a number of things which I knew when I was ten years old, just the same now — not chipped or broken, looking almost new, and yet they have travelled from place to place, from Dessau to Leipzig, Chemnitz, Dresden, and back to Dessau. I know how unhappy she was when any accident happened to anything that reminded her of former days. Every letter that I ever wrote to her she had carefully kept. There is nothing in life like a mother’s love, though children often do not find it out till it is too late. If you want to be really happy in life, love your mother with all your heart; it is a blessing to feel that you belong to her, and that through her you are connected by an unbroken chain with the highest Source of our being.

'Ever your loving Father.’

The following letter, about the duties of a young Oxford tutor, may be read with interest: —

Dessau, May 12.

‘There is plenty of work for a young Oxford tutor to do, and plenty of leisure. Most College duties are such that a man who has taken a First Class requires no further preparation. In giving lectures of a higher character a young man ought not to act simply as a teacher, but as a fellow student. Nothing is more useful to his pupils. But a man ought to reserve some hours every day for really hard work, in order to be able to take a position of his own in the University by-and-by. If he is only to think of making money, he will stunt the whole growth of his mind, and will suffer for it later in life. The career of a scholar is different from that of a lawyer. A scholar cannot lay him- self out to make money; if he does, he simply ruins his chances of success. He must be able to work on quietly for years, if he is to achieve anything in the end.'

To Mr. Nanjio.

Dessau, April 12.

'My dear Friend, — I thank you for your letter, which I received this morning. I have passed through very sad days; though my dear mother had had a long life (she was eighty-three), yet parting with a mother is one of the saddest events in our life. We allow our affections to grow much stronger than you do; hence we suffer more, no doubt, but we also enjoy more. It is difficult to give up what we love very much, but "it is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all"! Now that the sharpest pain is over, I settle down here to my work; I have many things to arrange before I can leave this place. I cannot make any plans yet, but as far as I can see, I shall stay here till the middle of June, till term is over, and even then it is very doubtful whether I shall return to Oxford. I am very sorry for this, for there are several books I wanted you to read with me before you return to Japan, particularly the Yoga and Sankhya Sutras, which throw much light on the history of Buddhism. That cannot be now, unless you stay till the end of the year, so that we might meet again and begin work in October, If you like to come to this small quiet town, you could live here and work, and life is not dear here. But perhaps it would be better for you to copy some more MSS. at Paris, Perhaps it is best not to make any plans for the present: in a week or two I shall know better what to do and what to advise; I still feel rather tired and confused.

‘I received your proof-sheets to-day, and shall look at them carefully and send them back to you ordered for press.'

To Horatio Hale, Esq.

Dessau, Germany, April 12 , 1883.

‘My Dear Sir, — I have to thank you for your kind and considerate letter. I saw at once that had failed to understand what I meant, though he himself ought to have been the first to see it. In Greek and Latin we work under the eyes of a large Vigilance Committee; in Mohawk, &c., we must be our own Vigilance Committee. The same applies even to Sanskrit — many things would be impossible in Sanskrit scholarship if we had a strong and well-supported public opinion, as we have for classical studies. However, if your friend sees what is meant, no harm is done: but I have often wondered how it is that, in his capacity of a scholar, a man will often allow himself to say and write things from which, in his capacity as a gentleman, he would shrink instinctively. I am glad to hear of your projects. I feel sure that there is no time to be lost in securing the floating fragments of the great shipwreck of the American languages. When you have stirred up a national interest in it for the North of America, you should try to form a committee for the South. The Emperor of Brazil would be sure to help, provided the work is done by real scholars. I had some material lately sent me of a Terra del Fuegian Grammar, which I handed over to Professor Grube, who has just published it in the Gottinger Gelehrte Anzeigen. I am just finishing an edition of the Sukhavati-Vyuha, a description of the Buddhist Paradise, which forms the Bible of the so-called “Pure Land Sect," which counts over ten millions of believers in Japan alone. There are twelve Chinese translations of it, all wrong. They will now have to wait a little longer in Japan for their Revised Version. Yours very truly.’

From Dessau Max Muller went for a day to Dresden. All the old grief of six years before seemed to return. He writes to his wife: —

‘I went straight to the Kirchhof. It is the old feeling still. My whole life seemed to me intelligible, but when this blow came, I could not master it, nor can I now. We may still say that all is ordered by Love and Wisdom, but one feels it is a Love and Wisdom which we cannot approach, and that has shaken all my old ideas of life. One feels helpless, one cannot even guess. We may understand it all hereafter, yet life is something different from what we thought it was. How different with mother. How natural all seems to be. Plow well ordained that she should be taken away before the sufferings of extreme old age set in. How willing she was to go, and yet how she enjoyed life to the very last. But dear Ada! — '

We get in the next letter the first idea of a monument to Wilhelm Muller, an idea carried out with such great success eight years later.

To Klaus Groth.

Translation. Dessau, April 19.

‘At present I must quietly stay here, and in a week’s time I expect my wife. Should you pass here or near us, on your way to Italy, I should certainly try to see you once more in this life. Now a question in confidence. It has been mentioned to me once or twice, that Dessau is thinking of putting up a monument to my father. Do you think it likely that, even now, subscriptions could still be collected for it in Germany? Do you know how much money is required for a statue? And where can we find the fitting persons for a committee? Could I, as his son, take part in it? Nothing has been done so far, and I should like to ask advice from experts in this matter before anything is done. Would you ask Stockhausen, or Brahms, or who else? Of course there is no hurry.’

To M. Renan.

Dessau, April 21.

‘I was called away from Oxford by the death of my mother, eighty-three years of age when she died, but as full of life and love as a young girl of eighteen. We have all to pay this debt of deep sorrow for what has been to all of us the greatest happiness in life; but when- ever the time comes, the whole of our life seems changed once more, and we know what the next step must be. Another great trial is over, and we must now prepare for the last If I had not left home at a moment’s notice, I should have written to you before, to explain why my last three volumes of my Sacred Books of the East were sent to you, with a request to send them to the Academie des Inscriptions [Google translate: Registration Academy]. The first series of twenty-four volumes is nearly finished, and when I proposed the second series, mes amis les ennemis [Google translate: my friends the enemies] did all they could to prevent it. They have not succeeded, and the second series will appear, but I shall be glad of an authoritative voice like yours to tell the English public the real purpose of this undertaking. Most of my English critics say “Les Bibles de l'humanite ne sont pas amusantes. [Google translate: Humanity's Bibles are no fun.]” Certainly not I they are not amusing; on the contrary, they are the very saddest books to read. But they must be read, they must be meditated on, if we want to know what kind of creature homo sapiens is. These Bibles were considered by him as the best he could produce as superhuman and Divine; let that be one lesson. But there is another, and a more cheerful lesson; amid all this scoria there are the small grains of gold— be good, be true, be patient, trust— the same everywhere, in the highest and the lowest religions, and these grains are the quod semper, quod ubique, quod ab omnibus [Google translate: that always, that everywhere, that from all], which will form the eternal religion of the world. These Sacred Books of the East will become in future the foundation of a short but universal religion, they will remain the most instructive archives of the past, studied or consulted when thousands of books of the day are forgotten, and yet my wise friends say ce n’est pas amusant [Google translate: It's not funny]! It reflects great credit on the University Press at Oxford, and the Secretary of State for India, that they have not allowed themselves to be frightened by this vulgar clamour; and a few words from you, addressed to the Academic des Inscriptions, on presenting the last three volumes, would be a great help to them and to me. So if you could find time for saying a few weighty words, I should feel truly grateful.'

His wife joined him at Dessau for the month of May, and they had a quiet happy time, living in the mother s old rooms. It was an early season, and the parks and public gardens round Dessau were in their full spring beauty, and the nightingales sang day and night, with a richness of voice hardly ever heard in England.

To Mr. Nanjio.

Dessau, May 23.

'I hope you received the Pall Mall Gazette with a notice of your Catalogue. I trust I shall find the photograph of the palm-leaf on my return to Oxford. We shall then have it photo-lithographed, and publish it with the other small texts and inscriptions.

‘As to a commentary on the Bible, I shall tell you when I return. It is by far the best to read the New Testament without any commentary. It was sent into the world without a commentary; it did all the good it could do without a commentary; and all the mischief has been done by the commentaries. Therefore I advise you to read the New Testament as it stands, and if you have any difficulties, make a note of them, and I will explain them to you. It is different with the Old Testament. That book requires notes to explain historical difficulties— but read the New Testament first.’

To His Wife.

Dessau, May, 1883.

‘It is a great change when one loses one's oldest friends; the whole flow of our thoughts has to turn in a new direction, and yet always turns to the old places, and finds they are no longer there. That makes us feel tired and heavy, and there is this constant undercurrent of disappointment, of looking for something which is no more, which does not fall in well with the ordinary current of life. And what a marvel life seems to be, the older we grow! So far from becoming more intelligible, it becomes a greater wonder every day. One stands amazed, and everything seems so small, and the little one can do so very small. One ought not to brood too much, when there is no chance of light, and yet how natural it is that one should brood over life and death, rather than on the little things of life.’

To The Same.

Dessau, 9, 1883.

‘It is very sad to break up an old household, and my mind is filled with memories of days long gone by. These sorrows of life are inevitable, but they are hard to bear, for all that. They would be harder still if we did not see their purpose of reminding us that our true life is not here, but that we are here on a voyage that may be calm or stormy, and which is to teach us what all sailors have to learn — courage, perseverance, kindness, and in the end complete trust in a Higher Power.’

To The Same.

Dessau, June.

‘I shall be glad when I can pack up now and go home. It has been a help to me, living in these rooms and thinking of old times, and of all the love that my mother had for me. Hers had been a very hard life, opening very brightly, and then darkened by early widowhood, deafness, poverty, and many anxieties. Yet she enjoyed her life, and her love and sympathy for others made her forget the burden she had to bear. She had earned her rest. The vault has now been rearranged, the stone put in, the ivy replanted, and so it will remain. I had a very nice letter from Mr. Sahl, the Queen’s German Secretary, telling me how much the Queen had felt for me, when she heard of my mother’s death.’

Max Muller returned to Oxford by Mainz to see his friend Professor Noire, and Neuwied, where he stayed at Segenhaus with the Princess Mother to meet the Queen of Roumania.

To His Wife.

Segenhaus, 1883.

‘This place is most charming, the surrounding country perfect, and the people most delightful. There is the old loving Princess Mother, strong and kind and serene. Then there is dear Roggenbach, healthy, true, straightforward. Then the Queen, who has grown immensely — far more than I had any idea of. She has a quite exceptional power of thought and poetry, and will do something really great. She is sometimes quite possessed, yet with all that so womanly, so good, so kind-hearted, that it is a treat to be with her. Alessandri, the Roumanian poet, is very pleasant Close to Segenhaus is the old Schloss Monrepos, where the Prince resides with his wife, very clever. We dined there to-day in great style, and afterwards had music and reading. They lead an ideal life — all seem so good and kind.'

The ‘ideal life’ at Segenhaus had a great charm for Max Muller. After breakfast the party separated till early dinner, after which came long walks or drives in the lovely forests, generally with the Prince of Wied in a large brake with six horses. The Prince is an expert whip, but Max Muller occasionally found the pace at which they tore up and down the hills a little trying to the nerves. After supper there was music, reading aloud, and brilliant conversation the whole evening. The quiet mornings were spent by most members of the party in preparation for these delightful evenings. Alessandri would appear with a new poem, the Queen with a new poem or tale, or some song which a Swedish composer, one of the party, had set to music during the afternoon, and which one of the ladies-in-waiting would sing; while the Princess Mother sat by, joining in the talk with her musical voice, and serene expression of face, and deep power of sympathy that seemed to lift those who were privileged to know her into a higher atmosphere, above the common cares and interests of life. The Princess Mother had known deep sorrow, but she had ‘the heart at leisure from itself, to soothe and sympathize,’ and there are many who owe their physical and moral health to her care and influence. She passed away in March, 1902, after a long illness, and those who had had the privilege of her friendship could only thank God, who had taken His saint to the eternal home, where her heart had long dwelt.

We have spoken of Max Muller’s translation into Sanskrit of 'God save the Queen’; on his return to Oxford he received a flattering review of his translation from India.

The Long Vacation was spent in Oxford, and, thanks to their friends the McCalls, was one of the brightest and pleasantest the Max Mullers ever spent, and Max Muller was the centre of all the enjoyment of the time. The following letter from a partaker in the happy social life at 7, Norham Gardens most aptly describes it all: —

Harrow, April 26, 1902.

'Dear Mrs. Max Muller — I would I could transcribe some of the memories your letter evokes. Golden afternoons on the Cherwell, excursions by road and rail, evenings of music and “candy-pulling’’: in all these the Professor was our comrade.

'At the time of which I am thinking, some twenty years ago, there was in Oxford a group of young folks who regarded your house as their centre. I know nothing either of the beginning or the end of this little coterie; it was in existence before my time, and continued after I had left Oxford. True, the members changed as residents moved away and generations of undergraduates passed, but its corporate life continued unimpaired, and in all the light-hearted frolic of that rout of young people of both sexes, the Professor took a part.

‘Once induce him to quit his books, and he became one of us. How sadly we used to interrupt his work by some of those water-parties, for which he used to set out with an air of resignation and some few groans over a wasted afternoon; then, as the distance between himself and his study increased, his expression would change from resignation to contentment, until when comfortably established in the stern of a boat (for he had a strong objection to toiling at the oar) he would at length assimilate himself with his surroundings and be as frivolous as any of us.

'On such occasions, when sure of his company, he would let himself go in fine flights of nonsense: but these things cannot be written down; enough to say that we were all young — and so was he.

'It was the Professor who showed us how to convert a water-lily into a chibouk by removing part of the yellow centre of the flower and filling it with tobacco which can be smoked through the stem. It works well, but the smoke has, as he remarked, “a botanical flavour.” I have never met any one else who knew of this water-party trick.

‘Music was a matter of course, in drawing-room, boat, or third-class compartment. Where no accompaniment could be had, we could always raise a glee or German student-song and chorus. In the latter the Professor was our leader and coach, as befitted one who had edited a Kommers-Buch.

‘Of his musical talent and taste I need say nothing, except that he was a charming accompanist, but an uncompromising critic and a rigorous opponent of trash. But he had a keen appreciation of musical nonsense, provided it were clever nonsense, not that dreary Stuff labelled and sold as "comic.” I well remember his sitting down at the piano to improvise a fantastic accompaniment to a foolish little ditty which had struck his fancy.

'Ah, well! those were happy days, and the memory of them has set my pen running beyond bounds. I had better stop, and sign myself,

‘Yours sincerely,

'B. P. Lascelles.’

Max Muller had been intensely interested in Henry George s books, Progress and Poverty and Social Problems, and was anxious to see them published and disseminated at a cheap rate.

To Mr. Henry George.

August 21.

'I have sent you copies of a second cheap edition of India — What can it teach us? Between these they cannot sell less than 50,000 copies in a few months, mainly to people who could not have seen the book in more costly editions. I don’t believe in piracy, but this is some compensation. I have spoken to — about your works, which he expects to print in full. I am anxious to have you popularized as fully as may be, for I know you must exert a powerful and beneficial effect upon thought. To get it into the head of the average man that his race and his creed are not everything, is to melt away bigotry and prejudice and admit larger and nobler views.’

The following letter to his friend Dr. Hosaus, the Ducal Librarian at Dessau, shows that the idea of a monument to Wilhelm Muller was likely to be carried out at last: —

Oxford, August 20.

'I rejoice to hear that it seems as if the idea, so often started, and then again forgotten, will at last be realized, and I am indeed grateful to you for taking so warm and active an interest in the plans for carrying it out.’

Dr. Hosaus became secretary of the central committee at Dessau, and spared himself no trouble about the monument.

To Mr. Nanjio (on hearing of Kasawara’s death).

Oxford, September 21.

'My dear Friend, — I am truly sorry for dear Kasawara, though I long expected it would end so. He might have been so useful, if he had lived. We must try to finish his work and publish at least his Dharma-Samgraha as a memorial.

‘I hope he received my last letter; I should be so sorry if he had thought that I had forgotten him.

'I go to Bristol on Monday. My lecture will be on Thursday.’

This lecture was on Rammohun Roy, and was delivered in the Bristol Museum on the fiftieth anniversary of the Rajah's death. It will be remembered that he was buried at Bristol in the Arno's Vale Cemetery. On his tomb are these words: conscientious and steadfast believer in the Unity of the Godhead, he consecrated his life with entire devotion to the worship of the Divine Spirit alone.’ As founder of the body of pure Theists in India, Max Muller had a strong feeling of reverence for Rammohun Roy.

From Bristol Max Muller with his wife and daughters made an excursion up the Wye, and then paid a visit to his friend Lord Aberdare, whose genial and instructive society was always a pleasure to him. They had much in common in literary tastes and political opinions.

On his return to Oxford he found the letter from Lord Ripon given below by permission: —

Government House, Simla, September 3, 1883.

'Dear Professor Max Muller, — I hope that you will excuse me for troubling you with a few lines to thank you very much for the able letter which you have addressed to the Times in reply to the Report of the Judges of the Calcutta High Court upon the so-called “Ilbert Bill,” and also for the very valuable support which you have given to my policy in this country.

‘I can assure you that I appreciate very highly the assistance which you have rendered to me. It is a great satisfaction to me to find that the course of policy which I am pursuing meets with your approval. I have need of all the aid which I can receive from England, for I am assailed here with a storm of bitter and unscrupulous hostility, which you, who dwell in a calmer atmosphere, can scarcely realize.

‘Believe me,

‘Yours faithfully,


In giving permission for the use of the above letter, Lord Ripon writes: ‘I shall always appreciate most highly the support which he gave at that trying time.'

To His Excellency the Governor-General of India.

7, Norham Gardens, Oxford, October 11, 1883.

'It was extremely kind of your Excellency to think of writing to me to express your general approval of the letter which I had sent to the Times in answer to the Opinion of the Judges of the High Court of Calcutta. I was afraid the Times would go on quoting that Opinion as unanswerable, till people who did not take the trouble to read it would believe that it was so. And yet it contained really very little to enable any one to form an opinion on the main point, namely whether, under present circumstances, it was safe to pass the Bill, or whether it was safe to withdraw it.

'It seems strange that people should entirely forget that those who enjoy the very exceptional privilege of living in India under English rule, must be prepared to submit to certain inconveniences. As a matter of mere sentiment, most people would naturally prefer an English to a native Judge. But when, after what had gone before, the extension of the Jurisdiction of native Judges to criminal cases had become almost a matter of course, one wonders that people should not see how delicately the marvellous structure of English rule in India is poised, and should not hold their breath in discussing measures which those who are responsible for the safety of the Indian Empire have thought it necessary to recommend. Parliament, however, has shown great tact in declining hitherto to discuss the question, and I believe we shall hear little more about it, when the Bill has once become law. I am glad to see that Sir J. Stephen, in his last article in the Nineteenth Century, is trying to withdraw gracefully from a false position.

‘Thanking you most sincerely for your extreme kindness, I have the honour to remain, my Lord,

‘Your Excellency's most obedient servant,

‘F. Max Muller.'

The letter for which Lord Ripon sends his thanks had appeared in the Times of August 6. Max Muller ended it by quoting the ‘ really brave words of the Queen, uttered by Her Majesty when advised by one of the most conservative of English statesmen, the late Lord Derby’: —

‘And it is our further will that, so far as may be, our subjects of whatever race or creed be freely and impartially admitted to office in our service, the duties of which they may be qualified by their education, ability, and integrity to discharge. We hold ourselves bound to the natives of our Indian territories by the same obligations of duty which bind us to all our other subjects, and these obligations, by the blessing of Almighty God, we shall faithfully and conscientiously fulfil.'

To Lady Welby.

Duffryn, October 1.

'I was glad to hear that your book1 [Links and Clues.] has found so many friends, and that you have had to publish a second edition. Accept my best thanks for your kindness in sending me a copy of it, which I shall find, I hope, on my table when I return to Oxford.

'Losing my Japanese pupil was a great loss to me in every respect. He might have done such good work. Now I feel that so much of the time I gave him is lost. He would have been a kind of submarine cable between Oxford and Tokio, and now it is snapped. With him Nirvana had become a Paradise, an island with beautiful lakes, trees of gold and silver, steps of emerald and lapis, birds flying about and singing the praises of Buddha Amitabha— Endless Light — who sits in the centre, while all who believe in him recline on large lotus flowers, lost in contemplation.

‘You see human nature will have its way, even with Buddhists. What is most interesting is that this Buddha Amitabha was once an ordinary mortal, and rose to his supremacy by endless lives devoted to virtue and truth. That supremacy may, in fact, be reached by everybody; only it will take a few eternities to reach it. There is a truly human element in all religions and in all philosophies; and it would be very strange if honest thought should not lead every one of us to the truths of Buddhism, or Platonism, or Christianity. The great delight of comparative studies is to find ourselves again in others. I keep to Self. The very misunderstanding of the word will often lead to its right appreciation. That appreciation is nowhere so perfect as in the Vedanta.'

It was in October of this year that Max Muller made the acquaintance of Pandita Ramabai, who came to stay at his house. He has given a full account of ‘the truly heroic Hindu lady, in appearance small, delicate, and timid, but in reality strong and bold as a lioness,’ in his Auld Lang Syne, Series 11. Max Muller wrote to his elder daughter: —

‘We had a nice visit from Ramabai, a Brahman lady, who knows Sanskrit splendidly. She knows books as large as Homer by heart, from beginning to end; speaks Sanskrit correctly, and writes Sanskrit poetry.’

Ramabal paid the Max Mullers a second visit before she finally left England for America, where she collected sufficient funds to enable her to start a refuge for child- widows in India. She has now 1,950 widows in her different homes. Her Life of a High-Caste Hindu Woman is well worth reading.

In November, on the four hundredth anniversary of Luther’s birth, the University of Oxford was anxious to mark the event in some way, and the Vice-Chancellor wrote to ask Max Muller to deliver an address in the Sheldonian Theatre. He was, however, far from well just at the time, and had to decline.

To Professor Moritz Carriere.

Translation. 7, Norham Gardens, Oxford, November 25, 1883.

'My dear and honoured Friend, — It was so good of you to send me your poems; we need poetry, though when we get old we think much more of the underlying thought than of the form that expresses it. Form, words, rhymes, all help our memory, and carry a perfume with them which reminds us of old and forgotten times, but the feeding and strengthening factor is always thought. At least, so it is with me, who have read much poetry, with or without rhymes; what I am most grateful for, and always shall be, is the underlying thought.’

To Mr. Nanjio.

November 29.

‘My dear Friend, — You may be right, but to me work is really a pleasure and recreation, and if I cannot work it makes me ill. However, I am willing to listen to the advice of my friends, and shall probably go away in the middle of December. On December 12 is my daughter’s wedding, which you must see; after that I shall want some rest. I should like to go to Rome myself, but I always catch fever at Rome. You must know your own constitution, and take care of it. If we have finished the translation of the Sukhavati, take some rest. Finish the Sanskrit Grammar: it is easy and useful, and you can do it anywhere, I wish we had a few more students of Sanskrit for Japan. You never know your own religion, unless you study its beginnings in the original books.’

The sixth of December of this year was Max Muller’s sixtieth birthday, and many of the German newspapers took notice of the day, and sent him their congratulations and best wishes, and one paper ended by describing his family life as of 'the happiest; in his house in Oxford there reigns that content, that comfort, that, in other countries unattainable, ‘‘something," which distinguishes a true English home.’

Towards the close of the year Max Muller's elder surviving daughter was married to Mr. F. C. Conybeare, Fellow and Tutor of University College. In mental power she was the most like her father of all his children, and had she remained unmarried would, no doubt, have been of great assistance to him. But it was not to be.

To Lady Welby.

‘A delightful book — how little we know of the untold wealth of the world 1 In the eyes of the world, who is Amiel? and is he not ten times richer than Lord Overstone? And what beautiful language too — not that I care much about the setting of the jewels, but even jewels can be spoiled by bad settings. Yes, Amiel is delightful, and I have to thank you for two very pleasant evenings from ten to twelve.’

Christmas was spent by Max Muller and his diminished family at West Malvern, for change and rest. Unfortunately the weather was very bad, constant fog hid the beautiful scenery, and it was only the society of their friend Lady Mary Fielding, and the run of her charming house, that made the visit endurable.

To His Daughter Mary.

December 24.

'I need not wish you a happy Christmas this year, for I know you have it. Enjoy your happiness while it lasts: you know enough of life to know that sorrows will come, nay, that sorrows are good for us. The beautiful sunsets here, which we watch from our windows, would be nothing without the clouds — and so it is with our own sunset. At present you will not think so, but perhaps you will think of me twenty- five years hence, and understand then what I meant.

‘Your loving Father.’

To Mr. Nanjio.

West Malvern, December 27.

‘My dear Friend, — Your letter was forwarded to me here. I can well understand how distressed you must feel at having lost your father, and that his wish of seeing you once more in this life has remained unfulfilled. However, you must feel comforted by the thought that your father was pleased with you, and that he felt proud of having a son who had done so much good work. I hope he saw your Catalogue, for that would have shown him that you had made good use of your long stay in England, away from your parents and friends. This is a very imperfect and uncertain life; we make plans and try to do something really good and useful, and then all our plans are upset by illness or by death! And yet we must not feel discouraged. No good work is ever quite lost; many labourers must be content to sow, others will come to reap the harvest.

‘I can quite understand your adopted father’s wish to have you back in Japan, and I am not going to dissuade you from it. You have still a year before you, and we may finish some of the work we have in hand. I hope I shall feel better when I return to Oxford, which will be in about a week. The weather is very bad here. I often think of the time when you and Kasawara were staying with me here. We must try to finish Kasawara's Dharma-Sangraha—we owe it to him.

‘I feel very strongly that, if you wish the study of Sanskrit to be re-established in Japan, you should work hard at a Sanskrit Grammar, and a small Sanskrit-Japanese Dictionary, If these are published in Japan, the study of Sanskrit will not die, even when you are gone; and I believe it will be a great benefit, if you have in Japan a few learned men, who can study the real history of Buddhism, and distinguish between what is old and what is modern.

‘Accept my best wishes for the New Year, and believe that you will always have a true friend in me. Yours very truly.’
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Re: The Life and Letters of The Right Hon. Friedrich Max Mul

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Part 1 of 2


Lectures in Birmingham and at the Royal Institution. Stay in London, Death of the Duke of Albany. Tercentenary of the Edinburgh University. Lecture on ‘Buddhist Charity.’ Biographical Essays. Foundation stone of Wilhelm Muller Monument, Hawarden. Social life in the Oxford home. Work at Mainz. The Engadine. Italy, Letter to von Schlotzer.

To His Cousin, Major von Basedow.

Translation, Malvern, January 2, 1884.

‘Your letter and good wishes found me here on the Malvern Hills. The wedding, and all the business connected with it, had been a great strain on me, and my doctor sent me here for the good air. But we have had little but fog, and are here above the clouds. The past has been a sad year. I have not only lost my mother, but many old friends, and that made me value all the more the time I spent with you and my old Dessau friends and relations. May this year bring you fresh enjoyments and hide old sorrows! Life becomes more earnest and difficult, and it is not easy to keep the wherefore before one’s eyes, when one wishes to walk straight on. We expect to go home to-morrow, as on Saturday we are going to Prince Christian’s, near Windsor, to stay till Monday. Then I hope to shut myself up snugly for the winter in my room. Of course I have been very much delighted about the monument to my father, but could not help wishing it had come a year earlier, that my mother might have had the pleasure. Hosaus1 [Secretary to the Monument Fund.] has taken great trouble about it. I have kept myself purposely in the background, and shall continue to do so, as I can work for it far better in the second rank. I have seen one model, but the new one is said to be much better. We must hope for the best.’

The prospect of this monument to his father, the poet Wilhelm Muller, was for years a great delight and interest to Max Muller, and did all honour to the little town, the poet’s birthplace, where the idea originated; though, as his son wrote to the secretary, ‘Make it quite clear in your prospectus that it is not merely a Dessau-native-place undertaking, but that we appeal to the German nation, and even further, to all true lovers of the arts of poetry and music.' The Greek Government gave the marble to mark their sense of the poet's services rendered to the cause of Greek independence in his Griechenlieder, which belong to the classical literature of Germany. The Greeks sent over a block of the beautiful white marble of Pentelicus for the bust, and another of the most delicate tint of grey for the large pedestal. The whole rests on a sub-structure of very dark red marble. Jenny Lind, Sir Theodore Martin, Sir Robert Morier, Mr. Froude, and others warmly supported the collection in England.

The past year had been one of constant loss to Max Muller, and early in this year he heard of the death of his friend and correspondent Keshub Chunder Sen, on whom he wrote a beautiful obituary notice which was copied in several of the Indian papers: —

'India has lost her greatest son, Keshub Chunder Sen. His was one of the few names known not only most widely among the two hundred and fifty millions who are said to inhabit the vast Indian Empire, but familiar even to European ears. Many of us saw him during his stay in England in 1870, listened to him, admired and loved him, and not a few have ever since remained united with him by the bonds of a real friendship. If we look around for true greatness, not in England or Europe, but in the whole civilized world, and if we try to measure such greatness, not by mere success or popularity, but honestly and, so to say, historically, taking into account the character of the work done, and the spirit in which it was done, few, I believe, would deny that it was given to Keshub Chunder Sen to perform one of the greatest works in our generation, and that he performed it nobly and well. ... No doubt the controversy between his followers and opponents will continue long after his death. But if we deduct an equal share on both sides— on the side of exaggerated praise as well as on the side of unmerited blame — there remains a sufficient amount of independent contemporary judgement to secure to Keshub Chunder Sen the first place among his fellow countrymen, and a pre-eminent place among the best of mankind.

'As long as there is a religion in India, whatever its name may be, the name of Keshub Chunder Sen will be gratefully remembered, as one who lived and died for the glory of God, for the welfare of mankind, and for the truth, so far as he could see it.'

To Professor Tyndall.

Oxford, January 17.

‘I shall try again to tempt you and Mrs. Tyndall to pay us a visit at Oxford. Just now I am quite unfit for human society; I drag myself about with lumbago — looking more like one of our gorilla ancestors (teste Darwin) than like a rational being. And with all that, I shall have to lecture at Birmingham next Monday! I hope I shall be' better for my Friday evening lecture. Do you know Miss S. D. Collet? I only knew her by correspondence, and fondly imagined she was a young lady of twenty. I find out she is as old as I am, and a great invalid. With all that, she is a most excellent lady, a great admirer of Rammohun Roy. She is collecting materials for a life of the Rajah, &c., and she is very anxious to hear my lecture on Rammohun Roy — as if I could teach her anything new. Well, the question is, could I have two tickets, and could she and her brother be brought in when there is no crowd? Fond as you are of young ladies, I know you are kind to old ladies too, so if you could help Miss Collet, please do.'

Max Muller gave two lectures in January at the Midland Institute, Birmingham, on ‘Religious Reforms in India,’ before crowded audiences; and on February 1 he gave the last Friday evening lecture he ever delivered at the Royal Institution, on Rammohun Roy, mainly founded on the lecture given at Bristol in the previous autumn. After mentioning that, though Rammohun Roy had clung to the Veda as revealed, his great follower Debendranath Tagore had given up the belief in .the Divine inspiration of the Veda, the lecturer asked whether ‘a kind of heavenly halo is really indispensable in order to secure Eternal Truth an entrance into the heart, and an influence on the acts of man: or whether, as some believe, Truth— Eternal Truth— requires no credentials, but is to rule the world in her own right, nay, is to be welcomed all the -more warmly when she appeals to the human heart, unadorned by priestly hands, and clad only in her own simplicity, beauty, and majesty? To Rammohun Roy the Veda was true, because it was Divine; to his followers it was Divine, because it was true. And which of the two showed the greater faith?’ [/quote]

To Miss Byrd McCall.

Oxford, January 27.

'My dear Friend, if I may say so, — Many thanks for those American sweets. Sweet presents are very nice, but sweet presence would be nicer! Instead of going to the Land’s End, you might have spent the whole of this winter in the more civilized parts of England. We have had hitherto nothing but mild weather; to-day is the first day of east wind and snow. I hope Mrs. McCall has not suffered much from travelling about, instead of settling down in a quiet cosy corner in her town house. I had spun myself in like a silkworm, but, alas 1 I had to come out at last. I had to lecture at Birmingham last week, have to go there again to-morrow, and on Friday I am to be executed at the Royal Institution in London — all old promises, given in a fit of good nature, which at last have to be fulfilled. B. will take care of me in London. She will escort me to see Princess Ida, and Miss Anderson, who is said to be “quite dazzling.” In the meantime I have been diverted by another American whom everybody else abuses, Henry George. I wish you would read his last work, Social Problems. Fie must be a good fellow. If his remedy is impossible, that only shows that the case may be hopeless; but that the present state of abject poverty of millions, and the extravagance of a Vanderbilt, cannot be right, I feel as certain as Henry George. I have asked him to come to stay with us to meet the Vice-Chancellor, &c. There will be a good deal of cackle about it, Common-Roomers and all the rest— can’t be helped.’

To His Son.

Oxford, February, 1884.

‘I agree with Mr. Henry George when he describes the present state of society as utterly wrong and unchristian — I mean the excessive poverty on one side, and the excessive wealth on the other. I also think his observations on the growth of towns in America very instructive, and there is nothing to be said against the lesson which he draws, i.e. that rising towns should never alienate all their land and never alienate it altogether, A few streets in Chicago, if the land had been reserved, would defray the expenses of the whole municipality. But when he turns round, and says the same mistake has been committed everywhere in Europe, all one can answer is, Yes, but the mistake is beyond remedy; any attempt to nationalize the land would produce civil war. Many things are desirable, but impossible. Henry George himself is opposed to all violence, and considers property sacred, but he is a fanatic, a man of one idea, and often lays himself open to misinterpretation. I believe he is a good and religious man.

'As to the Hindu Theatre, we have no Sanskrit plays older than about the fifth century A.D. Plays existed before religious performances, also secular representations of episodes of Epic Poetry. In the plays which we possess of Kalidasa and others, there are traces of Greek influence, and that is quite natural. Alexander and his successors introduced Greek artisans into India. Actors are specially mentioned. Indian coins show Greek workmanship and inscriptions. Indian astronomy is full of Greek termini-technici. Still the Sanskrit plays have preserved much of their national character, and it is chiefly in the stage arrangements that Greek influence is perceptible.'

Early in March Mr. Henry George came for two nights to Norham Gardens, where a large company were asked to meet him. The next day he held a public meeting, which was very much crowded, and where his views excited great indignation among the younger members of the University; and the scene at last became so disagreeable that Max Muller and his family left before the conclusion of the meeting.

The middle of March the Max Mullers moved to London for two months, and it was whilst they were there that the nation was plunged into grief by the sudden death of the Duke of Albany. To Max Muller, who had seen so much of the Prince at Oxford, and had hoped so much for science, literature, and art from his enlightened patronage, it was a severe blow.

To Robert Collins, Esq.

25, Pembroke Gardens, Kensington, W., March 29, 1884.

‘I must write you a line to say how deeply I feel with you and for you. You had done such a noble work. That young Prince, whom I so well remember when he first came to Oxford, had grown up under your care to be all that you could have desired or hoped for. Everything seemed so bright, so happy, so successful beyond all expectation. And now comes this sudden end, and all seems lost! But it only seems so. How this short life of ours will tell on our next, we cannot know. One thing only we know, that nothing good can ever be lost. And even here on earth that noble work to which you devoted the best part of your life will not be lost. Prince Leopold will remain a proud memory in the Royal Family, a bright example to the nation at large.

‘Dear Prince Leopold! I am now an old man, and my memory is very like one of those Roman columbaria, foil of urns and ashes and dear names. But Prince Leopold will always have his own niche there, as a bright and loving soul, full of the noblest aspirations. You may well place on his beautiful pale head the victor's wreath of laurel which he has so well earned, both by what he has suffered and by what he has achieved; and you may feel, when you look at him for the last time, that your labour has not been in vain.'

Max Muller was a true mourner among the many who obeyed the Queen's commands to attend the touching funeral in St. George's Chapel. Attendance there prevented him from being present at a meeting at Kensington Town Hall on the Ilbert Bill. He wrote to excuse himself: —

April 4.

'I have received the Royal command to attend the funeral of the Duke of Albany to-morrow. This, I regret, makes it impossible for me to attend your meeting. I was particularly anxious to be present to congratulate you and all true friends of India, to whatever party they may belong, on the great triumph which you have obtained. Every great triumph is mixed up with some small disappointments, but these can he corrected by-and-by. The essential point is that the fundamental principle on which the Proclamation of the Empress of India rests has been maintained against all quibblings that the honour of England is saved, and the Imperial word has been kept sacred. Do not trust to party, but trust to the great heart of England, or if that sounds too poetical, trust to the good sense of the English people.'

The middle of April Max Muller went to Edinburgh, by invitation from the University, to attend the Tercentenary Festival of its foundation. His wife and daughter accompanied him, and they were the guests of his old friend Professor William Sellar. It was a wonderfully interesting assembly, and Max Muller met many foreign friends and distinguished confreres, as Count Saffi, once triumvir in Rome, afterwards teacher of Italian in Oxford, Karl Elze of Halle, a fellow Dessauer, Professor Virchow, Professor Villari of Florence, Georges Perrot, Pasteur, Pressense, Professor Bunsen of Heidelberg, whom Baron Bunsen used to call ‘his golden cousin,' Professor Cremona of Rome, Helmholtz, and many distinguished Americans, not to mention leading representatives of all the Universities and scientific and literary societies of Great Britain. On the day that the honorary degrees were conferred, he, who had received such a degree in 1870, sat with the doctors of the University, wearing his blue doctor’s hood. It was a brilliant scene for the spectators. Those who were to receive degrees filled the centre of the large hall, wearing the hoods, caps, and gowns of their respective Universities. They looked like a bed of tulips presenting every imaginable hue, whilst the delegates from many of the European Universities and learned bodies appeared in brilliant-coloured gowns with high birettas to match. There were receptions and entertainments of all sorts, and a very clever dramatized version of the Fortunes of Nigel given by the students, who also gave a ball. Max Muller attended nearly all the festivities, except the Students’ Symposium on the last night, for which he was too fatigued.

On his return to London he delivered a lecture on 'Buddhist Charity,’ the first of a series of lectures on Ancient and Modern Charity1 [Organized by the Rev. Brooke Lambert, of Greenwich.] the proceeds of which were devoted to the London Association for Befriending Young Servants. The lecture was published in the first volume of the new edition of Chips.

Soon after the return to Oxford in the middle of May, the Prince and Princess of Wied visited Oxford to see the city, and consult Max Muller on placing their eldest son at an English school for a year. A suitable school was found, with his help, and the parents were full of gratitude for the counsel and practical aid given them by Max Muller, who threw himself as heartily into the quest as if his own boy were in question. It was this readiness to help on all occasions, no matter what the subject, that from earliest days won him so much esteem and affection.

To The Duke of Argyll.

Oxford, May 25, 1884.

'The first thing I did after my return home was to read your book. It carried me on from beginning to end, and I could discover nothing in it of what your Grace called heretical. When I came to the chapters on the origin of religion, I soon perceived that our difference arose from the different points from which we started; your Grace starting from what ought to be, I from the little that is known to be in the oldest documents which we possess. I have tried to put down my thoughts on the subject in the enclosed paper. Before I publish it, I should be glad to know whether I have rightly apprehended and correctly represented your views.'

To The Same.

Oxford, May 30, 1884.

'I return my paper with a few answers and explanations to your marginal notes. It seems to me, as I said before, that we do not differ on any essential points, though we approach the subject in a different spirit. My view through life has always been, Let us know as much as there is to be known from history. There is a great deal more to be learnt from that source than we imagine, and the additions to our knowledge of the real historical growth of man, during our lifetime, have been enormous. They are far from being digested yet, and they are certainly more instructive than the mere surface detritus which we find among so-called modern savages.

‘Your Grace will say that people want to know more; they want to know the beginnings, or the first stages of humanity. I know they do, but they might as well wish to ascend into the Moon. By whom was the first man suckled, and from whom did he learn his language? Was there history before language, &c. &c.? The very absurdity of these questions shows that we are running our heads against a very old and very solid wall. Those who like may do it. I prefer to try to understand the earliest relics which have been left us — mere ruins, it is true — and to form from the character of these ruins some idea of the persons who built them. In the history of religion I try to read the education of the human race, and I have to sympathize with the childishness of the child and with the wanderings of old age, such as you may read in the Nineteenth Century, January and March, 1884. You see unity in Nature; I try to see unity, purpose, wisdom in History. I know quite well we may go wrong, and that our little wisdom cannot span the wisdom by which we are surrounded on all sides. But this shows that we were intended to trust, and this trust is the best of all religions. The names may vary — the purpose is everywhere the same.’

Another of Max Muller's early friends passed away this year, Professor Lepsius, the famous Egyptologist, a man of whom Henry de Bunsen wrote, ‘Another Colossus of ancient days is gone! What a grand man he was!’ Max Muller sent an account of his friend and his work to the Times, which he concluded with these words: —

'Taken all in all, Lepsius was the perfect type of a German Professor, devoted to his work, full of ideals, and convinced that there is no higher vocation in life than to preserve and add to the sacred stock of human knowledge, which, though it is seen by the few only, has to be carried, like the Ark of the Covenant, from battle to battle, and kept safe from the hands of the Philistines.'

Bunyiu Nanjio had left England in the spring of this year for Japan, visiting India on his way.

To Mr. Nanjio.

Oxford, July 30.

‘I should have written to you before, to thank you for your letter, but I waited till I knew that you were settled again in your old home. How happy you must have felt to see your friends and relations again after so many years. And how sad, at the same time, that your dear friend Kasawara was not there to receive you. Let me know how you found all your relations, and how you were received at your monastery. Everything concerning you will interest me, and you must not mind speaking about yourself and your work. I hope you will find an opportunity of making all that you learnt in England useful to your countrymen. I hope you found all the papers and books that belonged to Kasawara safe. Bid he ever receive my letters? I have finished the Sukhavati-Vyuha and have ordered twenty-five copies to be sent to the Japanese Legation in London to be forwarded to you. I have also worked at Kasawara's Dharma-Samgraha, but there is much to be done yet. However, Br. Wenzel is helping me, and I shall certainly have the book published as a monument of our dear friend. I wait for your translation of the Chinese text about Sukhavati, which you took with you to revise. And please do not forget I-tsing!

‘We have been living here very quietly. We have now the Long Vacation, and I have plenty of time for myself. We have all been well, and I feel better than last year. On August 3 we celebrate our Silver Wedding, when we have been married twenty-five years! I hear that Mr. Bendall is going to Nepal, and possibly to Tibet, to look for Sanskrit MSS. Bo not forget that at some later time you might do something useful by going to Tibet through China. I do not mean at present, but after some years.

‘When you write to me, tell me how you found your wife and your parents. If you have photographs of them, please send me some, also of your temple, or your home, I like to know what your home is like. Try to get some pupils in Sanskrit, and do not forget that a grammar, and dictionary, and reading-book are necessary, to keep up the study of Sanskrit in Japan. I am printing a volume of Biographical Essays, which I shall send you when they are finished.’

The only books of his own published this year were another volume of the Anecdota Oxoniensia, The Ancient Palm-Leaves, which Max Muller had prepared for the press with Mr. Nanjio, and finished after his return to Japan, to which Professor Buhler added an appendix; and a volume of Biographical Essays, which, after being many years out of print, formed the second volume of the new edition of Chips, published in 1894. In defending himself from the charge of writing about many men whose work in life is but little known, he says, ‘Much of the best work in the world is done by those whose names remain unknown, who work because life's greatest bliss is work, and who require no reward beyond the consciousness that they have enlarged the knowledge of mankind, and contributed their share to the final triumph of honesty and truth.' Max Muller sent the book to a valued friend, who in thanking him, wrote, ‘Kenjiu Kasawara is most affecting, and makes one look forward to a meeting in that ‘‘future state,” as we call the great live Eternity which surrounds us all, and which such short careers as his, apparently incomplete to the vulgar eye, would assure one of, if there were no sermons, no Bibles, no priests. The whole book will be a treasure and delight to me.' These Biographical Essays were very well received. One review says of them: —

‘Professor Max Muller belongs to the elder body of scholars who have devoted their lives to the solution of those world myths out of which religion and history, poetry and art, seem to spring. Whether we agree with or differ from him on the many unsettled questions which surround those thoughts which have not inaptly been termed the daughters of dead myths, it is very useful to us to know what are the views of one who is at once very learned and absolutely truthful.'

In speaking of the essay on Kasawara, another review says: —

'A strange pathos is lent to this memoir by the untimely death of one of these, Professor Max Muller’s two pupils, just when about to begin a work in Japan, the issues of which cannot be insignificant. The immense patience, diligence, dutifulness, in that little body, whom many of us may remember to have seen silently gliding about Oxford so short a while ago! The equal patience, kindness, and generosity of the Master, who had unwittingly drawn these children of an alien faith, older than our creed, and outnumbering the Catholic Church itself, across seas and lands to sit at his feet, and spell out, through two languages, their way back to the authentic fountains of their own spiritual force! Is all the effort wasted? Surely here too we may trust the “larger hope.”'[/quote]

To B. Malabari, Esq.

September 5, 1884.

‘I truly regret all the agitation in India and about India. It will ruin your country. The fault, however, lies not with you, but with the new race of English settlers in India. Unless they are taught how to behave, and kept under control by a strong hand, government in India will become impossible. The Opposition in England, too, is much to be blamed. There are some politicians who would not shrink from saying: “Perish India, if only we can oust Gladstone!” What India wants, and will want for many years to come, is rest and quiet work. What would become of India if there were a second Mutiny, and a successful one, it is fearful to contemplate. You will have civil war, plunder, utter barbarism. But I confess I do not blame the people of India; the whole blame for the present disturbed state falls on the English settlers in India, and on the scheming politicians in England. The India Council too works very badly, because they have neither independence nor responsibility. The present Secretary of State is a very clever man, but he cares chiefly for Parliamentary success. All this agitation about the proper age of candidates for the Indian Civil Service arises from a personal squabble. There can be no doubt that for English boys, to say nothing of Hindus, the age is too low. Let candidates compete from nineteen to twenty-three. If boys of nineteen can beat men of twenty-three, let them go out; they will be the exceptions, and exceptionally strong boys are worth having. What I know for certain is that India loses some of our best men here at Oxford, because they will not cram for an examination at nineteen. The curious result of the present state of things is that the boys who get their appointment at nineteen get tired of it when they are twenty-two, and think that they might have done better by staying in England; while some of our best, when they have taken a first class, would give anything for an appointment to the Indian Civil Service. With regard to your countrymen, I wonder that they care so much for the Indian Civil Service. If I were a Hindu, I should look out for very different work to benefit my countrymen. To tell you the truth, I do not believe in the efficiency of a mixed Civil Service. Oil and water will not mix — let the oil be at the top, there is plenty of room for the water beneath.

‘You are losing an excellent man in Lord Ripon. If Lord Spencer succeeds, some people in India will find out that he has learnt how to deal with selfish, noisy, and disloyal agitators in Ireland, and that he will govern India for the Indians, and not for interlopers.'

In October, enough money having been collected, the foundation-stone of the monument at Dessau to Wilhelm Muller was laid during a Philological Congr6ss held at Dessau. Max Muller had prepared an address to deliver to the Congress, but as the time drew near he was so unwell, so entirely unfit for the exertion and excitement, that he had to give up the idea of going to Dessau. The stone was laid on October a, in front of the Gymnasium where Wilhelm Muller had taught, and which his son had attended as a scholar. Some fine choruses composed for the occasion were sung, and a speech was made by Professor Gosche of Halle. The address prepared by Max Muller for the Congress was printed in the Deutsche Rundschau of April, 1884, under the title of ‘Then and Now.’

‘There are moments,’ he says, ‘when one's life suddenly appears strange to one. One would like to stand still to collect one's thoughts, and as one looks back on the past and forward to the future, one asks oneself in quiet astonishment, what the significance of the wonderful present may be. Such moments are rightly called epochs, for the Greek word epoche means originally a halt, a standing still, also reflection and doubt; and then first a period of time in the movement of the stars, in the life of the individual, and lastly, in the history of mankind. I must own this quiet astonishment fills me when I suddenly find myself in my old native place, and in the midst of so many distinguished representatives of German science. Memory, with her dancing forms, rises so powerfully, that it is difficult not to be overwhelmed by her. Everything looks strange and yet so familiar, that I ask myself if the old man who stands before you to-day is the same who was born here sixty years ago, who learnt here first to know and love people, and who, even now, whenever he visits his living and dead friends here, is filled with a sense of home, which he feels nowhere else. But this is not the place or time to speak of myself, and of what I feel when I compare the Now with the Then.'

After presenting the first series of Sacred Books of the East, twenty-four volumes, to the Congress, to be placed in the Ducal Library, Max Muller traced the progress of Sanskrit studies from the time he began to work under Brockhaus, to the present time, and he ended by assuring his friends that ‘the Now was far better than the Then, and that in reliance on the young students round them, they might feel sure the Future would be better than the Now.'

To H.R.H. Prince Christian (absent in Germany on family affairs).

Translation. Oxford, October 31.

‘Your Royal Highness, — Many thanks for your kind note and for the offer with regard to the letters of Baggesen and Schiller. Though their correspondence is most interesting to me, I should not like to anticipate the possibility of its being offered to a relation of Baggesen, who probably would have much more time for this work than 1. Should there exist any original letters of Schiller s, I should much appreciate some copies for my collection; the work in question, how- ever, I should prefer being entrusted to other hands. . . . The Princess graciously invited my wife and myself last Sunday to Cumberland Lodge.

‘I know the feeling of Germany towards England, and especially towards Gladstone. Such phases of feeling come and go, and in our hurried lives they quickly come to the fore and pass away again. In England the German hisses make no impression, because they have no reality. England has from time to time to pass through her crises, and no one can deny that neither her statesmen nor her doctors always prescribe the right remedies. In spite of all this, I consider Gladstone the most experienced, honest, patriotic doctor. When one reads the discussions in Parliament, one might easily fear for England. But they are mere fireworks! The nation is of the good old stock, and woe to him who forgets this! England will never be conquered, not before the last Englishman, the last Scotchman, the last Irishman, aye, the last Irishman, the last Canadian and Newfoundlander, the last Sikh, aye, the last Yankee has fallen. Then, and only then, can Russia rule the world, for then there will be no more decent men. Bismarck knows what England signifies, and that in the whole history of the world no English and Germans have ever crossed swords. No danger threatens Germany from England: though Germany be ever so much in love with her neighbours right and left, John Bull will not be jealous. You see, I am a good Englishman, but also a good German.'

To Professor Noire.

Translation, 7, Norham Gardens, November 29, 1884.

'... I was hoping to send you a good article about “Savages, but it could not appear in the December number; still you will find something from me in the December Deutsche Rundschau, I had to write the little preface for Reville, and so I am often put into harness. The words C'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la guerre [Google translate: It's beautiful, but it's not war], were used by a French general, who looked on from the distance at the charge of the Light Brigade at Balaclava. I think it was Canrobert. Tell me, why can I not get enthusiastic about the beautiful? To me the beautiful seems so comprehensible, and only the ugly needs explanation. Don't you pay any attention to me, however; in this I feel I am a layman or a heathen.

‘I have little rest now; the University occupies me entirely, though I do not lecture. I long so often for rest, for an island, for a monastery, but nothing will come of this, I suppose. And so life slips by and we get old and useless; the best which we might be able to say, remains unsaid. But it must be said, and will be said, though we may not be here any more; younger ones than we will say it, better ones, later ones, who yet could not have any existence without us. Therefore, always on and on, though it may be much slower than in former years.'

To Her Highness the Princess Mother of Wied.

Translation, Oxford, December 6.

‘Your Highness, — Indeed, that was not the meaning of my letter. I know Baron von Roggenbach is a nomad, and as I had been waiting to receive some business information from him, I thought that my last letter might perhaps be waiting somewhere for him unopened. I always consider it most unmannerly of authors, when they not only pay an uncalled-for visit to their friends, but expect to know by return of post whether the said call was pleasant and agreeable, I thought your Highness might perhaps find something congenial in the Biographical Essays, and therefore I ventured to put my book on the table quite unnoticed. A thousand thanks for all the kindness of your Highness’s letter. How I should have loved to be again a spectator of the happiness of Segenhaus and Monrepos, but it was not to be!'

To Miss Byrd McCall.

Oxford, December 16.

‘You would be surprised to see me here quite alone in our house. Mary and Beatrice started yesterday for Rome; Wilhelm and his mother went this morning to St. Leonards. I wanted to be alone, it is sometimes good for me; and so here I am, like a hermit in his cave. You know perhaps that to-day is the saddest day of the year to me, though whenever I think of her, I always feel how much she has been spared. Many thanks for your birthday message and all your kind wishes. I cannot complain at my time of life; though I have lost many old friends, I have found some young ones, and I feel as if I could still do some useful work. If only there were not so many unnecessary troubles in this life! Some troubles there must be, but why should people be silly and perverse, when the straight line is so easy? I have been so much thrown back in my work by all sorts of interruptions, that Italy disappears more and more from my sight. However, I shall not grumble, but work away till my task is finished.'

To The Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone.

7, Norham Gardens, December 20, 1884.

‘Let me thank you first of all for two very bright and delightful days which I was allowed to pass in your family. But for the Ate that made me lay hands on your paper on Athene, mistaking it for some proof-sheets of my own, which, under the title of “The Savage,” are to appear in the Nineteenth Century next month, they would have been days of unmixed pleasure to me. All I can do is to trust to the Litae, and to say once more, Please forgive! The titles of the books which I promised to send you are. Myths and Songs of the South Pacific, by the Rev. W. W. Gill; Savage Life in Polynesia, by the Rev. W. W. Gill. They give an account of the growth of what may be called popular epic poetry among the Polynesian Islanders. The distance between them and the Greeks is great; still there is a common element. The best account of the collection of epic poems from the mouths of the people in Finland and Lapland, chiefly by Lonnrot, is found in Kalewala, das National-Epos der Finnen; Kalewipoeg, eine estnische Sage; and Castren’s Vorlesungen uber finnische Mythologie [Google translate: Kalevala, the national epic of the Finns; Kalewipoeg, an Estonian legend; and Castren’s lectures on Finnish mythology]. It is a pity that the Kalewala has not been translated into English; some portions of it are quite worth it. When we spoke of the accent in Greek, I wished to point out how the coincidences between the Greek and the Vedic accentuation proved the extraordinary continuity of language, in spite of the enormous distance which separates Greek from Sanskrit. In the Vedic Sanskrit some rational principles can still be discovered which determined the accent; the fundamental principle being that the syllable, which people wished to accentuate logically, was accentuated phonetically in the earliest stages of human speech. That principle was afterwards overlaid by false analogies, by tribal and personal idiosyncrasies, by euphonic and metrical tendencies, &c., but faint traces of it are visible here and there both in Greek and Sanskrit.

‘I refer to

[x] = Sanskrit Veda

[x] = vettha

[x] = veda

[x] = vidma

[x] = vida

[x] = vihuh.

We cannot explain in Greek why [x] should become [x]. The accent has become stereotyped. In Sanskrit it is still movable. It fell on the terminations in the plural because they were still felt as distinctive modifying elements, and the accent being on the last syllable, the vowel of the first syllable was lightened, or rather was not strengthened, e became i, oi, i. The only explanation why in German we say, "ich weiss,” but ‘‘wir wissen," [Google translate: “I know,” but “we know,”] is likewise supplied by the accent in the Veda. It will be difficult to explain why the Greeks said:

[x] = Sanskrit Dyaus

[x] = " Divas

[x], but = " Divi

[x] = " Divam or Dyam.

'In Sanskrit the rule is general that, after monosyllabic bases, the really modifying case terminations have the accent, while the nominative and accusative, the simple subject and object, are not felt in the same way. Does it not seem almost incredible that the only two numerals which in Greek have the accent on the last syllable, viz. [x]. and [x], should be the only two numerals which in Sanskrit accentuated texts are oxytone? If mere variation of accent can thus be preserved between Athens and Benares, need we wonder at other reminiscences affecting gods and heroes? The facts are there; the difficulty is how to explain them. Lastly, as to my calculations as to the probable number of English-speaking people two hundred years hence (published in 1876 from materials supplied by De Candolle and others), you will find them in a small penny pamphlet of mine, which I forward herewith. How far Bismarck's Colonial policy may vitiate these calculations, it is difficult to tell, but I feel about English and German what I feel about Sanskrit and Greek; wide apart as they seem to be, they draw their life-blood from the same source, and at every great historical crisis their common blood will assert itself.

‘Your very sincere admirer.'
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Re: The Life and Letters of The Right Hon. Friedrich Max Mul

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Part 2 of 2

To Mr. Nanjio.

December 21.

‘My dear Friend, — I received your letter of November 6 to-day, and I answer it at once. I am glad to hear that you are well, and that you have found a position in your own country where you can make yourself really useful. Since you left, I have not had much time for Buddhism, I am working again at my translation of the Rig-veda. 1 sent you a volume of Biographical Essays which by this time has reached you, I hope. You will find something in it about yourself and poor Kasawara. I am sorry to hear that my letters to him are lost. . . . When you have time for work again, the translation of the third Sutra of Sukhavati, and of I-tsing also, would be useful. Whenever I receive these translations, I shall try to get them published in England.

‘You will have to go by-and-by to Tibet, or send some one else to go there, to look for MSS.

‘Do not forget to look out for Sanskrit MSS. or inscriptions in Japan, and in Corea too. That poor country seems to be in a very poor state just now. I hope you will enjoy peace in Japan, and not think of conquest: you have plenty to do at home. I wish the European nations would learn that lesson, and not disturb the peace of the East; it is a shameful proceeding, and they are all alike to blame, French, Russians, English.

‘I wish you a happy New Year, and a great deal of hard work, for that is the best medicine for this troublesome life.'

To T. Althaus, Esq.

Oxford, December 21, 1884.

‘Thanks for your notes on Pattison; they contain some very true touches, and bring him visibly back to one's memory. I always considered him the best-read man at Oxford. Anywhere but at Oxford he would have grown into a Lessing. I have just been staying at Hawarden, and to-morrow I go to Hastings to join Wilhelm and my wife. My two daughters are at Rome, and I am the only one here to send you our best wishes for the New Year.'

The new year found Max Muller back in Oxford with only his wife and son; his youngest daughter was in Italy with her married sister. Most of this year’s work was devoted to editing the Sacred Books. Max Muller also brought out in the Anecdota Oxoniensia [Google translate: Anecdotes of Oxford], with Dr. Wenzel’s help, the Dharma-Samgraha, an ancient collection of Buddhist technical terms, which had been prepared by his late pupil Kasawara. He wrote a biography of his father, Wilhelm Muller, for the Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie, a translation of which was afterwards published in the new edition of Chips. He also edited and carefully corrected for press a translation of Scherer's German Literature, made by his elder daughter.

To Professor Huxley.

January 10.

‘You asked me whether the statistics about blue and black eyes and hair in different parts of Germany had been published in the shape of maps. I asked Professor Virchow of Berlin about it, and he writes to say that the maps are nearly, but not quite, ready. If you wish to see them at once, Professor Virchow says he could send a proof; otherwise he would send some copies, as soon as they have been finally revised. He adds, “I wonder whether Mr. Huxley remembers that I once had the honour of sitting by him at a Medical Congress in 1880?" He sends the journal which contains the statistics, which I forward herewith.'

To Professor Noire.

Translation. 7, Norham Gardens, February 1885.

'... Do read in the International Journal for Languages an essay by W. von Humboldt. How much deeper a thinker he was than those of the present day!

‘I am working hard on a volume of translations — Vedic Hymns; besides that, I am collecting materials for a work on mythology, objective and subjective. I want this work to act as a pioneer for further work of the kind. Oh that I could enter a monastery! Paltry society devours me, and yet it is a sort of duty not to be put entirely aside. Nothing is decided about Italy yet; new claims are constantly rising up, you cannot imagine how many.

'People here are a good deal depressed just now, but that is wholesome for them. The English nation is apt to be arrogant, and is never so great as when she is aware of this. The worst is that she will most likely send her physicians away, instead of attending to her own state, and dieting herself accordingly.

'It was impossible to prevent the fall of Khartoum: the mistake was in letting Gordon go there at all; it was a game of chance, such as a state should never attempt. The petty attacks from Germany are childish, and might in time produce evil consequences. Just as if the world were not large enough for all! The time for founding colonies is past now. The English colonies are no longer colonies, but do exactly what they like. Bismarck is sure to receive his answer, not from London, but from Sydney. Quanta stultitia regitur mundus [Google translate: The world is governed by such stupidity]! Well, it does not disturb me; we have to learn to do our work in spite of storms and thunder, and without storms and thunder the tree of humanity can take no firm root.

‘How curious that the Schopenhauer Memorial Fund proceeds so slowly! I should have thought that he had numerous adherents now. You ought not to let the matter drop.’

To Dr. Hosaus.

Translation. February 8, 1885.

'I hope in the spring to get away from here for some time, though it does not look much like it. New demands on my time are for ever turning up. So one year goes after another, and life draws near its close before one has finished the half of what one wishes to do. I envy you in your quiet, peaceful post at Dessau. Here in Oxford one is disturbed on all sides, and one has but seldom a quiet hour.’

To The Duke of Argyll.

Oxford, March 23, 1885.

‘The Vedic Hymns give us many glimpses of the life of the people for whom they were composed. It is quite clear that they were a conquering race, entering India from the Punjab. They called themselves while the native tribes whom they dispossessed were called by them An-aryas, not Aryas, or Dasyus, enemies. In my letter to Bunsen, “On the Turanian Languages,” published in 1854 in his Christianity and Mankind, Vol. III, I pointed out that these indigenous races were black-skinned, and were called Kravyad, eating raw flesh; anagnitra, not keeping fire; a-naia, noiseless, &c. These enemies had strongholds, and their wealth consisted chiefly in cattle.

‘The Aryan conquerors were agricultural tribes. Their very name Arya, as I have tried to show (Encycl. Brit s. v. Arya), meant ploughers, from ar, to plough, to ear. Even before the great Aryan separation, agriculture must have been known, for Greek [x] is the Sanskrit uruara. The Aryas in India call themselves Korihti's tribes, and that, too, is derived from Karih, to plough.

‘The poets of the Veda begin to complain that the earth is not large enough for them. Thus Rig-veda VI, 47, 20: —

‘“O Gods, we have come to a country without meadows; the earth, which is wide, has become narrow."

‘The wealth of the Aryas consisted chiefly in cattle, in cows, horses, sheep, and goats, and in men. Com was cut with sickles, and afterwards threshed. Their settlements were called urigana, clearings, grama, villages, while outside the grama was the aranya, the thicket or forest. Towns, in our sense, did not exist, though strongholds and camps are mentioned.

‘Each family had its house and hearth. Several families seem to have formed a vis, vicus, or grama, pagus, and several of such settlements have formed a gana, i.e. kin or clan.

‘We hear of vis-patis, lords of a vis, of grama-nis, leaders of villages, and of kings, ragan, who are also called gopa ganasya, shepherd of a clan.

‘We even hear of leagues of five ganas or clans. Kings were both hereditary and elective. They led the armies, and received booty and tribute. We also hear of public assemblies, samitis or vidathas, held in a sabha, a public hall. The king was present. Discussions took place, and likewise social amusements.

‘The cultivated land seems to have belonged to the village. Booty in war seems to have constituted the first private property. The possessive pronouns of the third person, suas, suus, existed before the Aryan separation.'

Early in April Max Muller received a letter from Lord Lytton, in which, after speaking of a translation of the Mahabharata by Protap Chunder Roy, the former Viceroy of India says, ‘Your own enterprise with the Sacred Books of the East is colossal. It takes one’s breath away. Never was there an Introducteur des Ambassadeurs on so vast a scale, nor with such great personages dependent on his good offices.’

To Mr. Bunyiu Nanjio.

May 10.

‘My dear Friend, — I have waited a long time before answering your last long letter of February 28. I hoped I should be able to send you a copy of Kasawara's Dharma-Samgraha, but the printing of the Index has been very slow, and I do not like to wait any longer. Now let me thank you for the seeds, which arrived quite safe. They have been sown and begin to sprout, and I shall often think of you when I see them in full bloom. I am glad to hear that you are actually Professor of Sanskrit, and have a number of pupils. I hope the study of Sanskrit will take root in Japan; you will then have a more intelligent study of Buddhism, and, more particularly, of the history of Buddhism. I hope you will go on with your translation of the third Sutra of Sukhavati-Vyuha, and of the latter would be very interesting in England, and I should gladly have it published here, and add some notes and a preface. The other text which you sent me may be even older than the palm-leaves of Horiuzi, to judge by the character of the letters. But I can do nothing with it till I get a faithful photograph of it. Perhaps you will be able to have that done for me. And do not forget to look out for other MSS. So many libraries in Japan seem to have been destroyed and dispersed, that old books and MSS. may be scattered about anywhere, possibly also old inscriptions on iron or metal. My family is well, and they all send you kindest greetings. Wilhelm will matriculate in a few days at University College. My two dogs are still alive — you remember Waldmann and Mannerl? Your poor countrymen have had a great misfortune in London, their Japanese village being destroyed by fire. I went there before it was burnt, and wished that you had been present. It was very amusing, and I had a cup of tea in a regular Japanese tea-house.

'Now I must finish. I hope that you and yours are very happy together. We often look at your wife's photograph, and always say, "How pretty!”'

To Horatio Hale, Esq.

3 May 18.

'I read your account of Chief Johnson with great interest, but I cannot trust myself to read all the important books which you and others are now publishing about the people and languages of North America. They carry me away from my work, which I have still to finish in quite different latitudes. But I must say that you are doing a great and most delightful work, and if I were young, I believe I should run across to America, and spend some years among these living MSS. What is quite clear to me is the high state of civilization reached by these so-called savages before they came in contact with so-called civilized men; and that, too, is a very important point. I wonder what you will think of my article on the Savage1 [Last Essays, Series I.]. I hope it may do a little good, but I know others might do it much better.'

To Herr von Strauss und Tornay.

Translation, Oxford, June 12, 1885.

‘My honoured Friend, — If thoughts were letters, you would often be invaded by me. I have never forgotten your friendly sympathy with my joys and sorrows in Dresden, and shall never do so. But life goes so fast downhill, and I have spun myself in so tightly with many threads in all directions, that I cannot do the half of what I wish to do. You may believe, I often despair of paying all my epistolary debts, and I only wish all my friends would show the same trust in me that you have done. It was a very real pleasure to have your son and granddaughter here with us. We all like Hedwig very much, and admire her courage, and the amiable way in which she accommodates herself to a foreign life. England is a salt-water bath for the mind, and will have a good effect on her whole life. My son comes up to the University in October. How little one can really do for one's children; how little one can shelter them, and yet how fast they are entwined in our hearts, perhaps more than is right. Well, one’s work is always a help and comfort. I have a good deal of trouble with my Sacred Books of the East, but the first series will be finished this year — twenty-four volumes -- and the second is being arranged for. Work will never be ended; there is much for our successors to accomplish.'

To Lady Welby.

June 19, 1885.

‘I can see nothing in Sympneumata. The world is so simple and transparent, it does not call for such involved and confused language. There may be a grain of gold in it, but what is the use of thinkers and writers if they cannot extract them from the slag? Simplicity is the right stamp of truth and honesty. When I see clouds and vapours, I shut the book. I admire your patience, but I do not possess it.’

To His Daughter Mary.

June 28.

‘You are quite right in what you say about Noire. A man who is a good deal ahead of his time ought not to mind being but half understood; unfortunately, Noire does mind it — he would have his pie and eat it, and hence all his grumbling. But it is strange how slowly people’s minds move. That introduction of Noire’s to my translation of Kant is a magnificent piece of work, but no one has found it out; all they say is, that it is too long; the fact being it is as concentrated as Liebig’s Extract. However, people will find it out; a few have found it out, and the few always become the many — unfortunately, as Noire would say. Of course, to a man of high ideals this world seems very imperfect, and so it ought, if it is ever to become better; but it is equally true that it is as good as it can be, exactly as good as we have made it, exactly as good as we deserve it. If it were otherwise, there would be no Nous in the world, and that there is, even Anaxagoras knew.'

To The Rev. G. Cox.

Oxford, June, 1885.

‘The Old Testament stands on a higher ethical stage than other sacred books— it certainly does not lose by a comparison with them. I always said so, but people would not believe it. Still, anything to show the truly historical and human character of the Old Testament would be extremely useful in every sense, and would in no wise injure the high character which it possesses ... it might be done in a review of the Sacred Books of the East, showing how the Old Testament is like, and how it is unlike them.'

The following, from the Indian Echo, is inserted to show how Max Muller was often misjudged and misrepresented, generally by those who did not know him personally, and many of whom were jealous of his fame and high position in the world of letters: —

‘Professor Max Muller has inflicted deserved chastisement on the Hindu Patriot, and we are scarcely sorry for it, for our contemporary has brought it upon himself by his wanton disregard of truth, or gross carelessness, in rushing forward to accuse the great Orientalist of one of the most odious things imaginable. It may be remembered that the Professor had delivered, during the days of the Ilbert Bill controversy, a lecture to a Cambridge audience on the “Truthful Character of the Hindus." Quite recently a German translation of Professor Max Muller’s Cambridge Lectures on India — What can it teach us? was brought out. The Patriot alleged that from this translation the particular lecture on the truthful character of the Hindus was omitted or suppressed, because it was no longer necessary to fatter and cajole the natives of India. Even if the omission was a fact, the criticism based on it was unworthy of the great reputation of the organ of the greater Zemindars. Our contemporary ostensibly drew his inspiration from information supplied by a Distinguished Orientalist to Babu Protap Chunder Roy. Who this informant or informer may be we do not know. But the fact remains that the particular lecture, to which the Patriot referred, was not suppressed at all, but duly appeared in its place in the German translation.’

It is only right to state that the Hindu Patriot apologized as soon as it found out how it had been misled, but repeated that the statement had been made by ‘a distinguished Orientalist ... as well known and respected in London as the learned Professor himself.’

These attacks became more frequent as time went on, and as the many distinctions bestowed on Max Muller excited the envy of less fortunate contemporaries. It became more and more needful to recollect Byron’s lines in Childe Harold: —

‘He who surpasses or subdues mankind
Must look down on the hate of those below.’

The Summer Term of this year had been again one of constant social intercourse, and the following letter will show the feeling for Max Muller among many of the younger members of the University, whom he gladly received at his house. Some of these may remember the Friday afternoon gatherings in term, the lawn-tennis, the tea on the shady terrace, and Max Muller’s bright welcome to all, young and old.

‘My dear Mrs. Max Muller,— It is a pleasure to me to do what you ask: my recollection of your husband as I knew him in my undergraduate days is still vivid and delightful, and though I have no claim to speak for others, I may at any rate say that I have found no trace among my contemporaries of an impression at variance with mine.

‘I have seldom met any one so entirely different from my imagination of him as Mr. Max Muller. I had pictured a burly, bearded German Professor, carelessly dressed, possibly brusque in manner, certainly of unavoidable learning, the author of all those books. This figure still lies — without its label — in some back cupboard of my mind; the gracious and genial presence of the real man could never be pieced on to it. As to the books, I hardly feel sure which wrote them after all; I never heard anything of them from the true Max Muller. I remember talks on music, dogs, poetry, Hindoo ceremonies, pictures, sweetmeats, and fairy tales: never a professorial or pedantic word. Once only I heard him speak of religion. It was when I was staying with you in August, 1885: I found him in the garden with —, and he talked to us with great vivacity of Darwin and Haeckel. Presently —went into the house, and I was left to keep the game up alone. It ended by my host turning upon me, and looking up with that flash through the glasses: “If you say that all is not made by Design, by Love” — waving an arm towards the Parks — "then you may be in the same house, but you are not in the same world with me." He looked down again; I disclaimed any desire to be in a different world from his, and he beamed with that genial humour which was always hovering about him, even when he pretended to be ruffled. I can see him now, standing at the window, when a picnic day had turned out wet, grumbling, not to us but to the dogs, Waldmann and Mannerl, and in a manner most sympathetically dog-like. I see him too, genuinely disturbed over the absence of Mannerl, sallying out late at night to find the prodigal, with a lantern; like a figure in one of Richter’s charming prints, or Hans Andersen’s tales.

'This quaint simplicity, the charm of the perfectly child-like character, always seemed to me the one un-English part of him. It carried with it the power, which we as a nation lack, of entering with ease and sincerity into relations, however sudden and unexpected, with strangers or foreigners. I have been with him, as you know, when visitors of many nationalities and colours were ushered in upon him, but I never saw either him or them for a moment embarrassed; and whether he spoke with an English Prince or with a tramp from Hamburg, his courtesy and shrewd directness were equally ready. It was a great thing for young men to see: I fear we learned to admire rather than to imitate it, but we gained at least a standard of good manners and a touch of the true Humanist tradition.

‘Believe me always,

'Yours very sincerely,

‘Henry Newbolt.'

In sending this letter to the editor, Mr. Newbolt says, ‘It falls short of expressing the full admiration and affection which I personally shall always feel for your husband.'

At the end of July Max Muller went to Mainz to discuss with his friend Professor Noire a work that was already occupying his mind, The Science of Thought, His wife and daughter went to friends in Switzerland, and they all finally joined the married daughter in the Engadine about the middle of August.

To His Daughter Beatrice.

Mainz, 7 a.m., August 13, 1885.

‘My dear Beatrice, — am glad to hear from you that you enjoyed your stay with the Blumenthals, in spite of the grasshoppers; I expect you will enjoy the snow mountains even more. It does one good to see those old giants, who have changed so little since the world began, and will be admired by little grasshoppers like ourselves many millions of years hence — always supposing that this little ball of earth will be kept roiling so long. This neighbourhood is tamer, but most lovely; the whole valley of the Rhine and the Moselle are charming: no wonder the Romans preferred them to Rome, and made themselves most comfortable at Cologne, Mainz, Trier, &c. The antiquities they find everywhere are very interesting. I wonder what you would have said to a young Roman lady, with her auburn hair most beautifully and carefully plaited, only she was resting in a stone coffin and all she had with her were a few nicknacks, which probably she had asked her friends to place by her side. Then there was a complete shoemaker's shop, with leather, shoes, all the tools, &c. It is a kind of Pompeii, and every day they find new old things.

'Your loving Father.'

To Miss McCall.

Kursaal Hotel, Maloja, Engadine, August 28, 1885.

'My dear Lady Byrd, — Now here comes a most delightful proposal. Supposing your campaign in England is over, and you really sail for America in October, why not fly over here for the last few weeks? You are here most comfortably in forty-eight hours — what is that? This is a heavenly place, really as perfect as Mother Earth could make it; glaciers, snow mountains, lakes, as many and as glorious as your heart can desire; a most comfortable hotel, full of all sorts of pleasant people. Now consider, you really ought not to disappear like a shooting star, but say Good-bye in a more fixed-star-like manner, gliding quickly, gently, aye, reluctantly below the horizon. I could tell you of ever so many charming people who are here. I hope my cousin, the Baronin von Stolzenberg, will also be here soon. Mr. Story, the sculptor, is here, Mr. Mundella, Russian Princesses, even ladies from Philadelphia, Mr. Saunders, and others.

‘Now I wonder whether you are capable of a noble resolve: leave all your trunks behind, and, with nothing but a pair of wings, fly over here. I know if you lead the way, your dear sister and kind mother will follow, and when you drive up here with four horses and position, I can promise you a hearty welcome from many besides

'Yours very sincerely.'

To Professor Ernst Curtius.

Translation. Kursaal, Maloja, Engadine, August 28, 1885.

‘Dear Friend and Colleague, — Here in the mountains the sad news of your brother’s1 [Professor George Curtius.] death reached me; he was an old and faithful friend to me. It is a heavy loss, and, at the same time, a solemn warning to us all. Only a short time ago I read his brisk defence, and rejoiced to be able to give expression to his principles in an article which I was just then writing (“The Lesson of Jupiter to appear in the next number of the Nineteenth Century. Well, he has done much, and much that is great, and, though knowledge will advance, that which he has done will never be forgotten. The counter-stream of the present day is for the most part based on ignorance and mutual misunderstanding. If personal prejudices were left out altogether, the Cause itself would occasion very little difference of opinion. ... It is so everywhere, and quiet, retiring, earnest labour, such as your brother loved, is to be found very rarely now. In vain do I look round for a worthy successor to him, and I am afraid that the gulf between Classical and Comparative Philology will grow wider and wider.

'I can understand how deeply you must feel the loss of such a brother. May you still have many years of vigorous work!

‘Ever yours.’

The time passed at the Maloja with congenial friends was a time of unmixed happiness. Among these friends were Mr. Seebohm and his family, Mr. and Mrs. Glazebrook, Mr. and Mrs. Story from Rome, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, and others. The warm friendship which sprang up with Mr., now Archdeacon, Wilson was a delight to Max Muller through the rest of his life. Long talks, long walks along the beautiful lakes or up the hills, readings out loud by Mr. Wilson and Mr. Story, much music in the large saloon of the hotel, concerts and little dances got up by the young people, made the six weeks fly by. The Max Mullers were among the last to leave, at the end of September, when the roads were already covered with snow, the icicles hung from the trees, and the smaller cascades were all frozen. At the foot of the pass, in sunny Italy, they found themselves in the midst of the grape vintage. All October was spent in Venice, where the Crown Prince and Princess of Germany were staying at the next hotel to the Max Mullers, and with whom they were in daily intercourse. No premonition of illness was then on the noble Prince, yet there was a certain sadness, the joyousness that had marked both Prince and Princess was gone; they seemed to feel that their day was passing, and that when they came to the throne a new generation would have sprung up, who had little sympathy with their schemes and desires.

To Archdeacon Wilson.

Venice, October 15, 1885.

‘My dear Friend, — I can well imagine how busy you are, working for others, not for yourself. I feel quite ashamed at having shaken off my harness so soon, but I do enjoy my leisure, and I do my best not to let it grow into idleness. This is a delightful place, and full of delightful people. Browning is here, Story the sculptor, Layard, &c. The Crown Prince and Princess of Germany left this two days ago. She is very intelligent, and I saw much of her. I showed her your last pamphlet, and she wrote: Dr. Wilson's pamphlet is excellent, full of truth and good sense, and written in the right spirit. He seems to belong to the few who are not silent and need not be, and their words cannot wound or harm.” I wish she had more influence in Germany; she would do much good. I also preached Brown’s poems to her, and she is anxious to possess The Doctor, Could you ask for another copy? Please tell Mr. Brown that Browning is delighted with The Doctor, and thinks it quite wrong that it should not be published. I shall see him this afternoon, and shall hear more from him about what he thinks of the poem, but I hear he has spoken enthusiastically about it. I lent him my copy.’

The poems mentioned in the above letter are in the Manx dialect by Mr. Brown, a master at Clifton College, Both The Doctor and Fo'c'sle Yarns were great favourites with Max Muller. He had been made acquainted with them by Mr. Wilson at Maloja, who, himself a Manxman, read them with the proper pronunciation and intonation. From Venice the Max Mullers went to Bologna, where a long day was spent at Signor Minghetti’s, the Minister; and three days were given to Ravenna, and he then settled for November in Florence. Here Max Muller wrote the Biographies of Words, and here, too, he found the beautiful sketch of Andrea del Sarto’s Carita, which, if not the original study, is a very early copy. He published a monograph on this treasure three years later. It is the first portrait of Andrea’s wife, and before their marriage about 1515. From Florence Max Muller went alone to Rome to his old friend von Schlotzer, German Minister to the Vatican, then rejoined his wife and daughter at Siena, and went on by Genoa and Turin to Paris, where his son joined the party as soon as the Oxford vacation began.

To His Daughter Mary.

Florence, November 16, 1885.

'I am not sorry to be away during the elections, but I should certainly have voted for Gladstone. I know his foreign policy has been really disastrous, but I cannot help feeling that the Liberal policy is altogether on a higher level, and on a more public-spirited line, than that of the Conservatives. I have perfect trust in a man like Chamberlain; I have none in Lord R. Churchill, or those who use him for their own purposes.'

To Herr von Schlotzer.

Translation. Siena, November, 1885.

'My Dear Schlotzer, — The best thing that happened during our time together in old Rome, seems to me to be Lord Salisbury’s toast on an alliance between England and Germany. Whether it was the right time for it, whether Munster's silence meant Yes, or No, are matters for the newspapers; the really important point is, and will be, that a man hitherto so anti-German as Lord Salisbury should have proposed this toast. To speak of an alliance between Germany and England is indeed a misnomer. The word applies to alien nations who join for a definite object. Between brother nationalities disputes may arise from time to time; they are generally started by evil-minded neighbours, but when the misunderstandings are once cleared up, the understanding and harmony come of themselves, and alliances, and paragraphs, and clauses, only spoil the natural trust. The terrible and barbarous condition in which we are living can only be ended if Germany and England hold together. We are living like the beasts of prey in prehistoric times. Every man in Europe now is a soldier. It sounds very grand to speak of an armed nation, but the object of human cultivation is security without being eternally ready for war. What should we think of a state in which every one had to carry a revolver in the streets? And what are we to think of Europe when no single state feels itself safe, unless its cannons outnumber those of its neighbour? This must be changed. However much one may now laugh at Metternich, he secured a thirty years’ peace for Europe. We shall soon have lived through a thirty years’ state of war in Europe. That diplomatic negotiations cannot be carried on in Parliament is now acknowledged by all quiet observers. This impropriety dates from Palmerston’s days; before that there was a tacit understanding that the Opposition was not to check the ^Minister of Foreign Affairs at every step. What has been, may be again. Parliament should have a right to the last word, but to the last, not to daily interference. England is the only land that has not taken to arming the people. Drive England into a corner, and to-morrow every man is a soldier. There may be jealousies between England and her colonies, but if it came to extremities, the colonies would allow no hair of England to be touched. Even India, which was formerly a danger, has shown now that England's enemies are her enemies. Russia may count more millions of subjects than England, but each nation consists of individuals, and can you compare a Russian to an Englishman? I wish they would send you or some other sensible man as ambassador to London. The ambassadors we have had are very clever diplomatists, but they cannot shake off the idea that diplomats must play chess. Come to England, and I will soon show you how things really stand, and what the people really are. So let us hope for better times. The present state of Europe is a disgrace to us all, and history will condemn the second half of the nineteenth century, more strongly than the times of the Huns and Vandals, unless a knight like Charles the Great appears.

‘Always yours,

‘F. M. M.'

To His Daughter Mary.

Turin, December 7.

‘Many thanks for your good wishes for my birthday. It was a very quiet day, very different from what they used to be. The weather here is cold, and we have regular English mists. I wish we could have stayed at Maloja. I have never felt so well again. ... I signed the address for Ruskin, and sent it straight to Dr. Lodge. How strange it is, this craving for recognition, in a man like Ruskin, perfectly unaware that everybody at Oxford will be forgotten when he will be known as the greatest artist in English, and as one of the most honest men of our age. Of course, I do not agree with a great deal of his teaching, but fortunately I can admire men from whom I differ toto coelo [Google translate: in all heaven], so long as I know they are honest in their opinions. The result of the elections seems to me most unfortunate. However, the Liberals will have learnt a lesson, I hope, and Gladstone must try to grow a little younger, and more truly Radical. Have you read my little apostrophe to him in the Nineteenth Century?'

After three weeks in Paris, where he was not well enough to enjoy seeing his many French friends, Max Muller and his daughter returned to Oxford, leaving his wife and son in Paris till term began.

To Miss Byrd McCall.

7, Norham Gardens, Oxford, December 31, 1885.

‘I must not let the year pass by without thanking you and your mother and your sister, “the perfect type of lovely womanhood1 [Ruskin called the elder Miss McCall so.]," for all your good wishes. I do want them indeed, for after we left that delightful place Maloja, all went wrong again, and when we arrived at Paris I felt so far from well, that I went home with Beatrice, leaving Wilhelm and his mother to stay a few weeks longer, as he wants to improve his French. Here, at Oxford, I am better again, and I enjoy the rest. After all, there is a good deal of travail in travelling, at least to an old man— you do not seem to feel it.

‘We all enjoyed Maloja so much, and had so many pleasant people staying there, that we shall find it very hard not to go there again next year. What a pity you could not come there; you would have enjoyed it better even than balls and desperate flirtations in England! What will be the end of it, or will there never be an end of it? I am sorry I shall not live long enough to see you a stately matron, very much shocked at the vagaries of those young people. I should like to see that, but alas! it cannot be.

‘I went to Rome for a few days only, and saw no one but my old friend Schlotzer, who is now German Minister to the Pope. We talked much about America, and we agreed very much on the subject of American young ladies.

‘My very best wishes for 1886 to you and yours. Shall I hear no songs in 1886? Why can what has been, never be again? Yet so it seems. However, whatever befall, believe me,

‘Yours very sincerely.'
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Re: The Life and Letters of The Right Hon. Friedrich Max Mul

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Part 1 of 2


English Goethe Society. Knighthood declined. Indian Exhibition. Oliver Wendell Holmes. Visit of Prince and Princess Christian. Bishop of Colombo on Sacred Books of the East. Death of married daughter. Science of Thought Desire to leave England: Queen’s message. Lectures for Oxford Oriental School Rukhmabai. Jubilee. Visit to Froude. Last interview with Crown Prince at Windsor. Scotland. New edition of Rig-veda, Speech at Missionary meeting in St. John’s College.

Returning home to Oxford, Max Muller found a six months’ accumulation of letters, papers, and books to sort and acknowledge, and his wife and son had returned from Paris before the work was finished.

The first part of the following letter refers to Prince Christian Victor, who was coming to Magdalen College as an undergraduate: —

To H.R.H. Prince Christian.

Translation. Oxford, February 2.

'I should say that history and mathematics are useful for all careers. It is all right about the title. At matriculation only the name is mentioned; in the Registers of Magdalen College the full title is given with the addition of “Heir to Norway,” which I hope will not involve us in a row with Sweden! I, too, could have wished that the Tories had remained longer at the helm, and especially that they had shown their hand with regard to Ireland. I am convinced that Gladstone is as little likely to make concessions hurtful to England’s interests as Lord Salisbury. Gladstone is a thorough Englishman, and who is his equal inexperience? His foreign policy was atrocious, I admit. The main reason was the fact that Lord Granville did not oppose him. When one meets Gladstone with determination, he yields. Lord Granville’s admiration for him was carried too far. Lord Rosebery may turn out very well, if he will accept advice. He suits Bismarck, who has long been wishing to make amends, and who, in the case of a change of Government, will say, See how beautifully I have arranged it all: my son and Rosebery will carry out everything, only make him successor." Thus lie the cards, and I see no danger in it. When England and Germany hold together, no man in Europe will get the smallest tract of country. The other dangers are much exaggerated. To restore quiet in Ireland is an affair of administration, not of legislation, while a separation of Ireland from England is simply impossible, and nobody wishes it less than Parnell and Co., whatever the newspapers may say. The great difficulty is the land question; now when America, the colonies, and India enter into competition, land has not much more value in England than in America. It can, as in America, support two people, the farmer and the labourer, not three, farmer, labourer and landlord. When the value of a merchandise falls, the merchants who invested their money in it become bankrupt. I fear land is no exception, and the condition of the landlord is sad enough. If Gladstone is a good financier, he is the right statesman for England now, for everything depends now on how, in deciding the land question, it will be possible to save for each what belongs to him. The sea is stormy, but it is of no avail to rage against the waves, and if a man like Gladstone has the courage to steer the boat in such a storm, safe through the rocks, he deserves the help, it seems to me, of every one who has the well-being of England at heart. Gladstone is a serious man, not very amiable, decidedly no courtier, but when one thinks how easy it is to be a courtier, he may be pardoned. At the present time a Minister must lead, but he must also suffer himself to be led; if not there will be conflicts, as in France, Germany, and Russia. The English people — Ireland excepted — have declared that they will be led by Gladstone, so it is natural that Gladstone should take the reins into his hands in spite of his age. It does not do his old colleagues much credit if they forsake him now. When England’s honour is at stake, Tories and Radicals should stand together; how much more Lord Hartington and Lord Granville! Well, in spite of all this, I am not afraid for England. I consider her healthier and stronger than any other land.'

To Miss Anna Swanwick.

March 1.

‘I am a great believer in party government, as long as both parties remember that there is something higher than party — the commonwealth. That lesson wants drilling into people’s minds now more than ever. For foreign policy both parties ought to be as one— in fact, there ought to be a mixed committee for foreign affairs, possibly for the colonies and India also. All the late mischief is due to England not being able to show a united front, and never maintaining any continuity of policy.

‘Therefore any such movement as yours has my fullest sympathy, and if I saw how I could really help, I should gladly join it. But I do not like to give my name, unless I can also give my help; and living as I do in Oxford, I am of no use in London. Besides, as an absentee, one has so often to follow where one does not wish to go, and to lend one's name to measures which one does not altogether approve. But I hope that some movement like the “National Political Union ” may succeed, and shall be glad to hear more about it. I most reluctantly gave up the idea of spending another pleasant week with you in London, but I hope we shall meet somewhere before long; I have spent all my holidays, but I think I may get away later during the vacation.

‘Believe me,

'Yours very truly,

'F. Max Muller.’

The allusion in the following letter is to a delightful visit of two days paid by their Royal Highnesses Prince and Princess Christian at 7, Norham Gardens, that they might see something of their son in his undergraduate life.

To H.R.H. Prince Christian.

Translation. March 1.

‘Your Royal Highness, — I have been told repeatedly that it might be desirable that Prince Christian Victor should join the University Volunteer Corps. In Cambridge the joining of the son of the Prince of Wales has given the movement a new impetus, and here such a step is very desirable, as we have only about 300 Volunteers. It is a healthy occupation, and I believe that as soon as the first drills are over, the young Prince would be appointed an officer. I have not said anything to the Prince about it, as I wished first to ascertain whether your Royal Highness would agree. To me it seems desirable all round.

‘I hope that the excursion to Oxford has been agreeable to your Royal Highness, and may the discomfort of the narrow limits of a Professor's house prove no hindrance in future.'

It was in this month that steps were taken in London to found an English Goethe Society, and the members were unanimous in trying to induce Max Muller to be their first President.

To Dr. Althaus.

Oxford, March 4.

‘If I lived in London, nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to act as President of the English Goethe Society. That Society ought to exercise a very powerful influence on English thought, and draw the two nations, the English and the German, very close together through their common sympathy with Goethe, with his works and with his aspirations. As in philosophy we say “Back to Kant!" we shall have to say "Back to Goethe!" in poetry and in all that can help us once more to believe in those high ideals of life which guided and upheld him from his youth to his old age. An English Goethe Society, if properly supported, might do much good both to England and Germany. It would show to the Germans that England has still a warm heart for all that is truly noble; and it would show to the English that Germany can still appreciate those to whom she owes her real and lasting greatness. What the German Shakespeare Society does in Germany, the English Goethe Society ought to do in England. With two such ambassadors as Shakespeare and Goethe, we should soon have a true alliance between Germany and England, an alliance independent of changing cabinets, and firmly founded on mutual respect and love. I feel all this so strongly that I should not have hesitated to break through a rule which I have hitherto followed without exception, not to belong to any Society in London. But the same reasons which have obliged me to decline all but honorary fellowship elsewhere, would make it impossible for me to accept the Presidency of the English Goethe Society, if it were offered me. You want an active President, a man who moves in society, and is on the spot whenever he is wanted. Try to get a man like Lord Acton, Lord Arthur Russell, Mr. Goschen, Mr. Froude — would that Carlyle were still among the living! My lot is cast here— I am growing old, and even a journey to London has become an effort.’

To The Same.

Oxford, March 12, 1886.

'I assure you it is no unwillingness on my part that keeps me from accepting the very kind offer to act as President of the Goethe Society. My only doubt is whether I should be able to discharge the duties as they ought to be discharged. Whatever I undertake to do, I like to do as well as I can, and nothing I dislike so much as making a promise, and then having to send an excuse when the time comes. I suffer from recurrent nausea, and when I am in that state I am fit for nothing. So I keep aloof as much as possible from all public duties, and confine myself to my quiet work at home, which I can carry on as well as ever.

‘However, to show you that I am willing to serve a good cause whenever I can, I write to ask you whether you would really want no more than, say, two visits to London, and at what time of the year? Also, when would you wish for an Opening Address? Just now I am really smothered with proof-sheets, but after some time I may have a few lucid intervals, and I should then try what I could do. I have some interesting and important materials for such an address; but of that by-and-by. You may tell your friends and colleagues what I have written, but I must reserve my final decision till I hear from you again.'

On March 25, Max Muller was commanded to Windsor to dine and sleep, and present the twenty-four volumes of the Sacred Books of the East to Her Majesty in person.

From there he went on for a night to Cumberland Lodge.

To His Wife.

Windsor, March 25.

'I have just had a long audience; most delightful — the Queen asking after you and all the Kingsleys. I told her of Col Enderby's Wife. She did not know it, but will send for it. After the audience I received a message to stay till Saturday. Prince and Princess Christian dine here to-night. They will take care of me!'

To The Same.

March 26.

‘We had a very interesting dinner last night. I sat between Princess Christian and Miss Fitzroy. Princess Christian was next the Queen, so that we could talk together. After dinner the Queen talked to me again very freely. Nothing could be kinder than the Queen. She generally speaks German to me, and shows how much confidence she has in me by speaking very openly about many things. She spoke about Prince Leopold; she was very composed. Dr. Sahl told me how kindly the Queen spoke about me, and wished to show me that she appreciated what I had done by asking me to come to Windsor.’

To W. S. Lilly, Esq.

Oxford, March 22.

‘Many thanks for your collection of Essays, two volumes full of hard work and honest thought on the highest problems. I always tremble to think what the world would be if somebody were suddenly to solve all these problems as you solve a mathematical problem. We should all die of ennui, and we should have the last note which finished the symphony, and no more. I agree with you that the study of history is our best occupation here, if only to make us humble. When I read Herbert Spencer— a writer without any background— I say on almost every page, "There, he has discovered London again!” And I have the same feeling when reading Comte. Did not Renan say of him that he repeated in bad French what every old woman had been saying for centuries in good French? I like the old writers who say what they have themselves discovered; they may say it in queer words, but the thought is fresh, not yet stale. I have been reading a good deal lately for my last work, which I may or may not be able to finish, the Science of Thought; and there I find that with Descartes, Locke, Berkeley, Hume, and Kant, I have all I want — everything else is a and generally smoked. I have read your Dialogue, and hope to read some of your Historical Essays.’

Early in April Max Muller received the following curious letter from Calcutta, which shows better than anything else the estimation in which he was held in India: —

‘India Mirror’ Office, March 16.

‘A friend of mine, Babu Rakhal Sen, a medical man of this city, on occasion of the Shrad ceremony of his deceased father, made certain gifts to you as the first Sanskrit scholar in Europe. These gifts, consisting of articles usually distributed to the Brahman Pundits in our country on occasion of a Shrad, have been forwarded to you by my friend. I hope you have received them by this time. He has taken the liberty to make the presents to you, and he hopes that, though very trifling, they may be acceptable to you. He has only endeavoured to render some honour to you, as one occupying a foremost place in the hearts of the Indians for his invaluable services in the cause of Sanskrit learning. The fact of a Hindu having on occasion of his father’s Shrad made these gifts to you ought to convince you and our brethren in the West in what high estimation your services are held in this country.

‘Yours faithfully,

‘Nerendranath Sen.'

The Shraddh is the most sacred rite of the Hindu religion. It consists of sacrifices offered to the spirits of the departed; and Hindus who have long learnt to despise idolatry, cling with mysterious awe to the Shraddh. No stranger is admitted, and only certain classes of Brahmans can officiate or receive the gifts. These consist in food and presents, varying according to the wealth of the sacrificer.

Max Muller received Shraddh presents on two other occasions, proving that the Hindus ranked him with their most pious Brahmins. The first present he received was a large finely-shaped brass vase with a Sanskrit inscription, and several yards of thin red silk. Another time a piece of cream-coloured tussore silk was sent, enough for a dress, and lastly a chuddah shawl, with the petition that he would wear it for a time, and great was the amusement of some friends who came in to tea to find Max Muller with the delicate white and orange striped shawl across his shoulders. The sacred thread of the Brahmins was sent with the first of the Shraddh gifts.

On one of the early days in April, Max Muller received a letter from a friend, stating that the Queen had notified to the Prime Minister her desire to confer some mark of her favour upon him; that Mr. Gladstone suggested Knighthood; and that the Queen, before taking any further steps, was anxious to ascertain privately what Max Muller’s feelings were on the subject. Max Muller had never sought for any honour, nor had any of his friends ever done so for him; and the idea that his Sovereign had, of her own gracious thought, wished to confer a public mark of her favour on him, touched him very deeply. He had lately been at Windsor, where he was more than ever impressed with a sense of the Queen’s great kindness to him. Her Majesty and many members of the Royal Family had for years shown their appreciation of his work; and the sense of their kind feeling, one might even say real friendship for him, was more to him than any public distinction. The one proposed for him by Mr. Gladstone (who, as a literary man himself, was well aware of the position occupied by Max Muller in the literary world of Europe, America, and India) was one he could not accept. France, Germany, Italy, and Bavaria had years before this each conferred on him the highest honours ever bestowed on literary men, more than any other living scholar held at that time in Europe, honours he had never solicited. By the side of these honours the Prime Minister of England, where he had lived and worked for the greatest of her dependencies, India, for thirty-nine years, offered Knighthood. Her Majesty fully appreciated Max Muller’s motives in not accepting Knighthood, and her gracious sentiments towards him remained unchanged.

To Professor Huxley.

April 16, 1886.

‘Zeller is the truest historical philosopher, and there is no salvation in philosophy except through history, as, I suppose, there is none in physiology except through evolution. I am glad I persuaded you to answer the Dawn of Creation. It is curious to see how these subjects open like volcanoes periodically. Just a hundred years ago Herder wrote his Aelteste Urkunde des Menschengeschlechts, and the world has not grown much wiser since. I have been too busy with uninteresting work lately, but I still hope to find time to write something, not on Genesis but on Geneses^ the various ways in which the human mind has satisfied its cravings after the beginnings of all things. Genesis is no doubt the most sensible, but that will not satisfy our friends.’

To P. LE Page Renouf, Esq.

April 19.

‘I come to torment you— only please do not answer this, if it gives you any trouble. I should like to have a passage— if there is such — in which an old Egyptian expresses a hope that his inscription will be read by people to come, or where he curses those that might injure his writings. I want it to show that the ancients thought of us— that they believed in the destinies of a human race. But, please once more, do not lose any of your time about it. I can imagine how you are driven.’

Of the friendship between Max Muller and Mr. le Page Renouf, Lady Renouf writes: —

‘They fully appreciated each other’s worth. Both men of learning in so many things followed the same way, observing small, apparently indifferent events in history, from which they deduced what might have led to the formation of different languages. Many years ago I once found them in the Bodleian, Professor Max Muller occupying a chair put for me in one of the dens where my husband worked. They were eagerly discussing from whence Solomon could have received certain apes, in order to trace with what nations he might have been in communication. They were so absorbed that they never discovered my presence, and I listened over an hour to their conversation.’

On May 4 Max Muller was present at the opening of the Colonial and Indian Exhibition by Her Majesty. Mention has been made of the opposition of some of the Committee to the use of averse of Max’s Sanskrit translation of the National Anthem. He had felt strongly how undesirable any change was, after the announcement had been made in the Indian papers that the Sanskrit verse would be used. The following paragraph had been printed in all the leading papers in India, both in the English and in the native vernaculars: —

‘As a compliment to India and the Indian visitors who will be present at the opening of the Colonial and Indian Exhibition, the second verse of “God save the Queen” is to be sung in Sanskrit. The translation has been made by Professor Max Muller.’

And it was no mere personal feeling of gratification that filled his mind when he heard from Windsor and London that the Queen had desired that the arrangement she had sanctioned should be carried out.

To Sir Henry Ponsonby.

Oxford, May 6.

‘I found your letter on my return from London last night. After the kind lines which I received from Mr. F. Knollys, I could not hesitate for one moment to obey the gracious command of his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales to be present at the opening of the Colonial and Indian Exhibition.

‘And I feel indeed grateful that I went and witnessed what was not a mere festivity, but an historical event. Behind the gorgeous throne and the simple dignified presence of the Queen, one saw a whole Empire stretching out, such as the world has never known, and an accumulation of thought, labour, power, and wealth that could be matched nowhere else. It is well that England should sometimes be reminded of her real greatness and of her enormous responsibilities.

‘But what was even more impressive was the appearance of the Queen among her people, and the touching words which Her Majesty addressed to the Prince of Wales. Many eyes were moist when the Queen spoke with such wonderful composure of the First Exhibition, and the great work which was then planned by the Prince Consort One felt, in the truest sense of the word, the real presence of that noble spirit who lives on in his works, and whose high and unselfish purposes in life begin to be understood and appreciated more and more, even by those who could not, or would not, understand during his lifetime the Prince's devoted love and enthusiasm for everything English.

‘As the Queen's voice sounded through that immense hall, and thrilled through every heart of the thousands who were listening in breathless silence, one perceived the immense power which the Queen possesses, not only as the ruler of the greatest Empire, but as the true guide of all that is noblest in the English character. There is in England an inexhaustible fund of sympathy for all that is good and noble and unselfish, but it must be called out and encouraged. When I left the Albert Hall, I felt as if I had heard, not only musical harmonies, but higher moral harmonies — the return of that old chord in which one note, and that the highest, can never be absent for any length of time, and which called forth so warm a response from all who had the privilege to hear it once more.

‘I never like to give trouble, but if you should find an opportunity of telling the Queen how deeply grateful I feel for Her Majesty fulfilling what in my Sanskrit translation I had rendered by “Mayaska pasaya" (verse 2, line 5) I should feel much obliged to you.'

To George von Bunsen.

Oxford, May 12.

‘I confess I feel very ignorant about this Irish question, but it seems to me that people allow themselves to be frightened by words. Ireland cannot be separated from England, nor England from Ireland, but it is quite possible it will be good for both of them to live a little more apart from each other. How that is to be done must be found out by our political doctors, and I confess I trust Gladstone more than Lord Randolph Churchill and Co.'

The Germans in London had persisted in nominating Max Muller as first President of the English Goethe Society, and on May he delivered his inaugural address on Goethe and Carlyle. It is published in the new edition of Chips, Vol. III.

To His Wife.

Claremont, May 30.

‘The lecture went off very well. It was crammed full, Hatzfeld was not there, but I met many others— Bryce, Seeley, Oscar Browning, Blackie, &c. Here everything looks very bright, though there are sad memories about the place. I have not seen the children yet. Here I shall have some rest, then Monday the Levee, and then home again, which is best of all It is quite beautiful here, real summer at last; the Duchess so kind. Dr. MacGregor, preacher to the Queen in Scotland, is staying here, clever and amusing. I heard about all that has been going on. —says he cannot understand it, because he says Gladstone has been very friendly to me. Well, I can do without it. I should have valued any kindness coming from the Queen, but as it is, I have got more than I ever deserved .'

Early in June Oliver Wendell Holmes, with his daughter Mrs. Sargent, spent some days in Norham Gardens. He charmed everybody by his lively conversation and simplicity of manner. Two large parties were given in his honour, all Oxford desiring to meet the ‘Autocrat of the Breakfast-table.' He had already had a brilliant season in London, and towards the end of his visit to Max Muller became so exhausted, that the doctor called in was seriously alarmed, and rigorously excluded all callers for the rest of his visit. He has himself described his time in Oxford in his Hundred Days in Europe: —

'We met there, at dinner, Mr. Herkomer, whom we have recently had with us in Boston, and one or two others. In the evening we had music, the Professor playing at the piano, his two daughters, Mrs. Conybeare and her unmarried sister, singing, and a young lady playing the violin. It was a lovely family picture; a pretty house, surrounded by attractive scenery, scholarship, refinement, simple elegance, giving distinction to a home which to us seemed a pattern of all we could wish to see beneath an English roof. It all comes back to me very sweetly, but very tenderly and sadly, for the voice of the elder of the two sisters who sang to us is heard no more on earth, and a deep shadow has fallen over the household we found so bright and cheerful. Everything was done to make me enjoy my visit to Oxford.'

Writing to Mr. Moncure Conway of this visit, Max Muller says: ‘I became very fond of Wendell Holmes. I liked his books, and now I love the man — only life seems all over, and nothing remains but some duties to fulfil.’

To Professor Noire.

Translation, June 25.

‘We live here in a constant whirl; it makes me feel worn out and tired. All the world comes to Oxford now, and all the world comes to stay with us, and next week we expect Prince and Princess Christian of Schleswig-Holstein. After that I expect some rest. My essay on Goethe and Carlyle I have arranged myself for a German journal. I have only just finished it. ... I long for rest and work, but I have got so much behindhand lately, that I feel I can make no plans what- ever at present; my only thought is how to sit still at home. The political confusions are very engrossing, though I keep away from them as much as possible. I am sorry for Gladstone, he ought to have retired long ago. After all, old age has its limits, which cannot be ignored without evil consequences. He is a political Aristides. Hence all the lacrumae. [Google translate: tears]’

In July Max Muller had the honour of receiving Prince and Princess Christian as his guests for Commemoration. Their Royal Highnesses entered into almost all the gaieties of the week, attending a ball at Magdalen, their son’s College, and the Vincent’s Club Ball, concerts at Magdalen and New College, the Masonic Fete, the Encaenia and luncheon at All Souls, and ending with a large private picnic at the old Manor House at Water Eaton. It was shortly before this that Mr. Bright had separated from Mr. Gladstone on the Irish question; and knowing that Mr. Bright was to receive an honorary degree at Oxford, the Queen sent him a message, through Princess Christian, to express Her Majesty’s pleasure at his staunch adherence to the existing constitution, even at the sacrifice of old and faithful friendship. Mr. Bright came to the Max Mullers to see his Royal Highness, and it was deeply interesting to see how the veteran statesman was gratified and touched by his Sovereign’s gracious message.

It was in this year that the Bishop of Colombo wrote to Max Muller with reference to the objectionable character of parts of the Vinaya texts, and expressed his regret that the absence of these parts from the English translation, in the Sacred Books of the East, had not been more explicitly noted. A violent attack was also made in the Dawn in India, stating that ‘Max Muller had given a false idea of the real character of some of the Buddhist books, especially of their moral character, and the tendency of their teaching.’ Later, in 1895, the Bishop stated that he had never meant to insinuate that the translators had intended to conceal what they had omitted to translate.

Max Muller defended himself against the implied imputation of having wilfully deceived the Buddhists as to the moral teaching contained in their Sacred Books, by saying that though the portions omitted were untranslatable, either the originals had been left, or, for the guidance of missionaries, Latin renderings had been given. If Max Muller took any notice of the attack in the Dawn in India, which was repeated in the Home News, his answer has not been traced. The subject was revived in 1895 by Professor T. M. Lindsay of Edinburgh, who wrote to the papers: —

‘The fault I find is that, so far from giving complete translations, Professor Max Muller has omitted large portions without letting his readers know that these have been omitted, and has, in consequence, allowed his readers to misunderstand the more objectionable sides of these religions.'

Dr. Lindsay added that Professor Max Muller’s statements seemed to him ‘not merely very unsatisfactory, but disingenuous.’

The Bishop of Colombo had written shortly before this a letter to the Times, which was followed by a letter from Professor Max Muller saying that he felt ‘truly grateful to the Bishop of Colombo for his letter in the Times, and for the handsome manner in which he has explained the misunderstanding to which some of his words had given rise.’

Max Muller did not feel called on to answer Professor Lindsay s attack. The Bishop and Max Muller met in 1895, and any little soreness that had been felt was speedily removed in personal intercourse.

To Professor Noire.

Translation. Norham Gardens, August 7, 1886.

‘Believe me, it is a great sacrifice to have to give up all travelling plans. I need rest, fresh air, change, and I know I shall have to suffer for it later on. But it cannot be; my duties here require my presence, and it would be wrong to shirk them. I had so looked forward to going through my MS. with you, but that too has to be given up, unless you could come to England. I have to write just what I am writing to you to twenty other friends, whom I hoped to meet at Maloja, and so it cannot be helped, and we have to take life as it comes. There is one advantage, perhaps. I may complete my book a little sooner, all being well. Here it is beginning to be quiet and lonely; only birds of passage appear now and then in order to work here. I am now in the midst of logic, reading Mill and many other books which I have forgotten, and which have to be referred to in order to keep in contact with the public.

‘I heard yesterday about Scherer's death. How sad, such a young and active man! I have just finished my Reader, which is to be a pendant to his History of German Literature, two volumes. He looked through the last proof-sheets himself. So one is left whilst the bullets strike all round one. I had just lately a letter from Liszt, announcing his visit for next year, and now he too has played his last melody, and is, I suppose, very glad to go to rest How little seems to remain of a musical artist! All that he has created belongs to the moment only, while the pictorial artist knows that his work will live at least for 500 years. His (Liszt's) compositions do not appeal to me, but his pianoforte playing was astonishing. I heard him for the first time about 1840 at Leipzig, when with Mendelssohn. . . . Well, do take care of yourself, and try to recover strength during your holidays, and shake off your cough before you return to the yoke, and keep in memory your,’ &c.

Max Muller’s old love of music made the visits of musicians to his house a peculiar pleasure to him. About this time we find in the Visitors’ Book the names of Blumenthal, Emil Sauer, Joachim, and Friedlander, for whose new edition of Schubert’s songs he wrote the preface.

But a terrible break was to come to the quiet work Max Muller had planned for Long Vacation. On September 3 his married daughter died quite suddenly at the seaside, and was brought home and laid to rest in the beautiful Holywell Cemetery, where so many of Max Muller’s friends sleep, and where he himself now rests. Her almost sudden death made a great impression in Oxford, where she was much loved and admired. Adverting to her in his sermon on the first Sunday in the next term, Dean Liddell said, 'One hardly knew which to admire most, her remarkable mental gifts, or the almost ethereal beauty of her person.’

To Sir Henry Acland.

September 12.

'I knew what you would feel for me in this new loss. It came so very suddenly. Her life seemed so perfect in every way. How it happened I do not understand, perhaps no one does. Everything was done to revive her, but in vain. I quite understand what you mean by the sweetness of grief; it is but another name for that love which lasts for ever. Old men like you and me may well indulge in it. What is so hard is to think of her poor husband, with this long, empty life before him. My life cannot last much longer: that feeling helps one to bear even a heavy load.’

To Mrs. McCall and her Daughters.

Oxford, September 19, 1886.

‘My Dear Friends, — You will want to know how we are moving on, but there is nothing to say; -we sit and look at each other and are silent. The sun rises and sets the same as before, and life goes on with its daily routine of duties. Our health is quite good, the body seems untouched by what affects the soul, and one knows that though we are much poorer, we shall live, and though life cannot be again what it was, it will have to be lived and even to be enjoyed, till a new blow comes to remind us of the conditions of our stay on earth. It is strange how easily we forget those conditions, in spite of all that is going on around us. It is true that death seemed so unnatural She was so young, so happy, so useful; there were so many old people who ought to have gone before her; still, we have seen the same before. What is heartrending is to see her poor husband, who tries to be so brave, and hardly knows what has happened. My life cannot be long now, but he, with this long and empty life before him, is indeed to be pitied. He is a good deal with us, but I do not know what he means to do. We stay on quietly here, and see as few’ people as possible. Everybody is so kind — she has been so widely loved and appreciated — but what one likes is to be left quite alone. You know what sorrow is, and how it brings out the old human bond that binds us all together; how we suffer with others far more truly than we rejoice with them. Still there is a time when every one must remain alone with himself, and when he feels that those who are with God are much nearer to him than those who are still in the world, however dear and near they may be to us. It is a help to know that many are suffering with us, and I know it.’

To Sir Robert Collins.

7, Norham Gardens, Oxford, September 23, 1886.

‘Please give the enclosed letter to the Duchess of Albany. It was so kind of her to write to me. Those who have felt deep sorrow themselves can best feel for others. I know it. I have shared many a sorrow, and even now, under this new blow, it is the misery of that poor husband and the grief of my wife that chokes the heart far more than my own distress. As one grows old, one learns to surrender, and one also feels that those who are with God are often nearer to us than those who are still left to us on earth. But it is hard to see the utter misery of others, and to feel that one cannot help them. Nothing could be more perfect than the happy married life of my daughter. She was so much loved, and, young as she was, she was doing her very best to help others. She was very attractive, yet very earnest, very conscientious, and as true as a silver bell. It was a pleasure to see that such a natural, simple, right, and happy life as theirs was, was possible in our entangled society. But now to see that empty house, and that lonely man in it, is heartrending. I wish I could take him away for a time, but he wants to stay where he is. Perhaps at Christmas we shall move South.

‘My wife thanks you for your kind words of sympathy, and I remain always,

'Yours very truly and gratefully.’

To Horatio Hale, Esq.

Oxford, September 24.

‘I am always very glad to hear from you, and as I am apt to forget answering letters if I do not answer them at once, I sit down to thank you for your paper On the Origin of Languages.” I have read it with much pleasure. I have no faith in Nursery Philology, and have just written on the subject in a book now passing through the Press, The Science of Thought. The observers are not scientifically educated, and the children can never be completely isolated. They all have the impression that there is such a thing as speech from seeing and hearing other people. Alphabets have been .invented, phonetic alphabets too, by people who saw others write. But the original invention of writing passes through many stages, ideographic, determinative, syllabic, phonetic. So, I believe, it was with speech. As to the date, who can tell! However, 10,000 years will account for many things, even for a common radical period of speech, out of which Aryan, Semitic, and Turanian speech might have developed — for the possibility cannot be questioned, as I tried to show years ago in my letter to Chevalier Bunsen, and again in my Stratification of Language. However, there is a wide gap between the possible and the real. I also collected some curious observations on children’s languages in my Lectures on the Science of Language, which are useful to account for differation, but hardly for invention of speech. I am still able to work, and have always looked on mental work as on bodily exercise — it strengthens, it does not weaken. What has interrupted and prostrated has been sorrow, loss of children and dear friends— that is the penalty we pay for living too long. I hope you have been spared these trials, and that you may long be spared to continue your useful work.

‘What a pity it is that your first work, your Report on the Languages of Australia, &c., should be so little accessible! Could you not reprint it in a small form?’

To Dr. Hosaus.

Translation. Oxford, October 10, 1886.

'It is a new deep wound, but when one has lived so long, one must get accustomed to such wounds. The happy ones leave us, and we must struggle on till the hour of deliverance strikes for us. I can imagine no more beautiful life or death than my daughters. She had had all on earth that heart could desire, and in one moment she passed away to the better life. She was most gifted, read Latin and Greek with real enjoyment, spoke German and French like English, and in her last stay in Italy had gone deep into Italian. And with all this she neglected none of her duties, and none miss her here in Oxford more than the poor and the fallen. What the poor husband is to do I cannot think, with a long, empty life before him. To me it is as if the winter of my life had come in earnest, and must soon end it — and that thought helps one to bear much.'

To Sir Robert Morier.

Oxford, October 13.

‘One puts off writing and everything else from day to day, but time brings little change. One feels more tired, that is all It is just ten years ago that I had to go through all this — that was the beginning of autumn; now I feel that the winter has set in, and that all must be over soon. Death seems so natural now, and one feels so willing to go where those who were with us so long have gone before us. She had wonderfully developed: she read Plato with real enjoyment, spoke German and French like English, was deep in Italian, and played really beautifully. With all that, she spent herself for the poor in this place, and the feeling excited by her death was extra- ordinary, considering how young she was. We received over 300 letters and messages, from the Queen down to little children; and now it is all over, and one has to go on, and work on, and wait till our time comes. I cannot imagine a happier life than hers has been, nor a happier death — it is a mistake to live too long.

‘I knew you would feel for us, and sorrow certainly brings out the old bond that binds us all together. That is a help, but still life is changed, and one asks in vain, Why?'

To B. Malabari, Esq.

October 26, 1886.

'I hope you do not consider the battle lost. Now seems to me to be the time to resume work with double vigour. In every fight against old-established prejudices, defeat is at first inevitable, but it is invariably the precursor of victory, I do not see that you could have expected more from Government. Government in India is no longer what it was fifty years ago. The motive-power, and therefore the responsibility, is at home, and "at home" means “in a house divided against itself.” I begin to believe that Mill, who was so much abused for his defence of the old East India Company, was right after all, and that it was an evil hour for India when it was drawn into the vortex of party government. But, as I say, government in India being what it is, you could not expect more than that advice would be asked all round, and responsibility eschewed.

‘Now mind, I am not in favour of paternal government, not even in India. But I hold that Government loses its raison d'etre, if it does not prevent and punish what is morally wrong, even though the moral wrong has the sanction of religion and tradition. I do not say that infant betrothal or even enforced widowhood are morally wrong, but the consequences flowing from them lead to civil torts, which any Government, deserving that name, ought to prevent.

‘That infant marriage has no sanction whatever from either Sruti or Smriti I told you from the very first, and I see that no Pundit now ventures to gainsay that. Manu wishes a young man to marry when he may become a Grihastha, i.e. when he is about twenty-four years of age. As to the girl, she is to marry when she is fit for it — and that may vary in different climates. But an engagement between infants is never contemplated by any legal authority, much less are the sufferings of widowhood inflicted by Sruti or Smriti on a girl whose polygamous husband dies before she has even seen him. That argument has been treated with so much learning by your own scholars and lawyers that nothing more need be said on it. The study of Sanskrit, even by so-called Mlekkhas like myself, begins to bear fruit. You remember how, in the case of suttee, the Shastris quoted passages from a last sakha of the Veda, intended to show that widows should be burnt with their husbands. They actually tampered with a passage from their own sacred Veda, and not till I published the passage from the Asvalayana Grihasutras, forbidding widow-burning, would they become silent. With regard to the proper age for marriage, I published the important passages in my Hibbert Lectures in 1878, pp. 252-3, and as these lectures were translated under your auspices into most of the modern languages of India, I doubt whether any Shastri now will dare to invoke either Sruti or Smriti in support of infant marriage.

‘However, the argument derived from Sruti or Smriti may by this time be supposed to be surrendered, and the case stands simply thus: “Infant marriage is a native custom, and we do not want the Government to interfere." I have not a word to say against this argument, provided always that no tort is inflicted on individuals. Government does not deserve the name of Government, if it declares itself unable to protect each individual subject against personal torts, whether sanctioned by custom or not. Now, infant betrothal is a tort — it is a contract made without consent of one of the parties. If therefore that party suffers and wishes to be released from an unjust contract, the Government ought so far to protect him or her. Whether the Government is foreign or native, does not matter. It is your Government, so long as you accept it and enjoy all the advantages of it; and to turn round and say that your Government should not prevent and punish iniquity is self-contradictory. Do you not invoke the aid of the Government to stop drunkenness or Thuggee? The Thugs appealed to custom and to their protecting goddess, but the Government did not listen, but did its duty. Now ask any high-minded woman, what is preferable — to be killed in the most expeditious way, once for all, or to marry to a man whom you loathe— and I believe the answer cannot be doubtful. The custom of infant betrothal is unjust, the custom of infant marriage is criminal. In the former case, Government should give every relief that is demanded by the injured party; in the latter, the Government should punish the criminal. But for the unfortunate feeling against Government interference — in many cases a mere excuse of the interested parties — no man worthy of the name of Arya would tolerate or try to explain away such iniquities. I wish the Government, while declaring its impotence, had at least given expression to the righteous indignation which every Englishman must feel when reading the accounts you have published of infant-brides and infant-widows. That would have been no great risk, and it would at least have given some encouragement to you and those who work with you in continuing your crusade. However, depend on it, justice will be done. Write a short pamphlet, containing nothing but well-known and well-authenticated facts, and send it to the Women of England. They begin to be a power, and they have one splendid quality, they are never beaten. If they once know what is going on in India, tolerated by an English Government, they will tell every candidate for Parliament, ‘‘Unless the blot is removed from the escutcheon of England, you shall not be reelected." Women at all events have courage, and when they see what is hideous, they do not wait for orders from home before they say what they think. Secondly, educate your own women, and depend on it, this matter will soon be set right, in spite of temporizing governors or half-hearted reformers among your own countrymen. I know many of my native friends will be very angry with me for writing this. I only wish I could speak to them face to face, and I should soon convince them that I care more for the good name of the true Aryas than they themselves; You know I abstained from writing on this subject for a long time. I felt it was in good hands, and I do not like, nor have I time, to give my opinion on everything But now that apparently you are beaten, I cannot remain silent, and the more my friends in India abuse me, the more proud I shall feel. If they call you ignorant, because you are a Parsi, what will they call me — a mere Mlekkha?'
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Re: The Life and Letters of The Right Hon. Friedrich Max Mul

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Part 2 of 2

To W. S. Lilly, Esq.

Oxford, November 22, 1886.

'... Materialism, in the most general sense of the word, ought to produce selfishness, and therefore immorality. But as a matter of fact, looking about among my friends and back to what history teaches us, it is not so. Materialists are mostly serious-minded and moral men, whilst the greatest amount of immorality meets us among those who are most orthodox in their religious opinions, most regular in their attendance at church, and most shocked at the opinions of Darwin, Huxley, &c. How is that to be explained? For though I may have stated the facts too broadly, you know no doubt, from your own experience in London, what I mean. A very interesting article might be written on that point, and it would only be fair to write it. Of course one is not at liberty to give illustrations and to say all one does know, but history would supply illustrations, without consulting the Society papers, or the Law Reports.’

To The Same.

Oxford, December 5.

'No, I have been so busy with Roots, that I have not yet been able to read Huxley's article. But I have been thinking a good deal about your thesis that Materialism produces immorality, and I feel more and more convinced that the facts are against you. I believe that in many cases immorality produces Materialism, using that word in a very large sense. Materialism is a welcome refuge for souls troubled by a bad conscience, but as a rule I find the honest Materialist is a serious-minded and conscientious creature. Criminal statistics ought to be studied much more carefully than they are. In Buddhist countries, where religion is atheistic, in the usual sense of the word, morality is wonderfully high. Even now, when India has been infected with many European vices, it stands very high, I believe, in the tables of morality. These things ought to be carefully considered, before we draw large inductions. The causa mali [Google translate: causes evil] must be somewhere else, the malum [Google translate: inevitable] cannot be denied — our society is rotten — but why? I believe it is the unreality of all religion which is the principal cause. People read the Psalms every day, and tolerate adultery in their private houses. No religion, and atheism, would be better than that hypocrisy. And that hypocrisy is encouraged by the half-heartedness of all the people, clerical or lay, who write and speak about religion, and who do not believe what they write and say. An honest belief in Karma, such as the Buddhists have and really have, does more good than all the Ten Commandments. So it seems to me, but I confess the recent revelations in London have staggered me, and I am quite prepared for ah outburst of indignation which would sweep away certain Dukes from the House of Lords and certain Right Honourables from the Privy Council.

‘Our feeling against Matter dates from the Gnostic Schools. Matter in itself is very wonderful; we know very little of it, and yet that very little constitutes the knowledge which we are so very proud of. Matter has been unfairly treated.’

To Moncure Conway, Esq.

Oxford, December 13, 1886.

‘Your letter has made me very miserable. Yes, I know indeed what it means to look into the open grave of a child: we are much the same again — the heart within us becomes petrified, the joy of life is gone.

‘Work is some kind of medicine, and I take as much of it as I can. I hope to bring out a large book, on the Science of Thought, next March. I have written it for myself, and I doubt whether many people will read it.... I think religious papers should be chiefly historical They ought to show how we and others have come to be what we are. If we know that, we generally know what we and what they ought to be. History, if properly understood, can take the place of philosophy, and there is so much to be done in the history of religions. If I have any chips likely to suit you, I should send them to you, but my present block is philosophical, not religious.’

The fourteenth edition of the Lectures on Language came out this year, and the little monograph on Andrea del Sarto’s Carita.

After a very quiet Christmas, Max Muller sent his wife and son for change to Hastings, and his daughter went to London, whilst he remained quietly at work in Oxford.

To Professor Legge.

January 2.

‘I do not understand much about Lao-tze, but I can quite believe that what we possess of him may have been written down later than 500 B.C. But that would not affect the canonical character of his book, as little as the uncertain date of certain books of the Old Testament affects its canonicity. I have had a kind of hope that it might be possible to trace Indian influences to Lao-tze. The coincidences between his teaching and that of the Upanishad is great.

'The Tao comes very near to the Rita. But what is possible in one country is possible in another, and as yet I see no historical channels of communication either between the Upanishad and Taoism or between Christianity and Buddhism. We must wait. But there can be no doubt about the usefulness of a scholastic and faithful translation, and I hope you may soon be able to continue your work.’

To Dr. Prowe.

Translation. January 2.

‘Yes, the last year has been a very hard one. But our life cannot last so very much longer, and the happiness that children can give us has been ours. Now we have only two, a son and a daughter. I have tried work as a remedy, and have just finished a thick volume on the Science of Thought, It contains much that is old and much that is new; but whether the present-day people will read it or not, I do not know. At all events, one’s heart is still for a time, when one’s head works, but, alas! it does not last very long. I cannot complain of my state of health; when I can sit quietly at home I feel always well, and my work is progressing, only one’s memory is not so trustworthy as it was, and everything has to be verified.

‘I think in April, when I have finished everything, we shall leave this for a while, and perhaps go first to Ems and then somewhere else. I wonder whether we shall meet once more in this life? Everything hurries on so fast now; nearly all my friends have preceded me; and life, which looked so long, looks now so very short. Carpe diem is all that remains.’

To Professor Noire.

Translation, January 22, 1887.

'At last my book is nearing its end, and I shall be glad indeed to have it off my hands. Then I have to think about writing my lectures on the Science of Thought, and after that I hope to get away. Your remarks are always a pleasure. They are like talking with you. But you know language is always a hindrance to the understanding— no one word has the same meaning for two people. And nothing is more difficult than to represent another’s opinion in our own wav. Judging by your former remarks, I thought that you tried to derive the demonstrative elements from predicative roots. Others have done the same, and I do not deny the possibility, only I can find no case to prom this. You will see I only mention the different view historically without entering upon explanations. You must always put the principal factor in the foreground, especially with Englishmen, and never lean too much either to right or left. I suppose the book will hardly be popular with the English public; well, never mind! dixi et salvavi animam meam [Google translate: I said and saved my mind].

‘The matter is behind me now and done with. There is a book on Mythology to follow, and perhaps the preparation of a new edition of Lectures on the Science of Language, and then I may be allowed to say, ‘Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace."’

'The only peace for me is to be found in uninterrupted work, so as to prevent all possibility of brooding. The time will come when all and everything will belong to the past — till then it is best not to look backwards, nor to the right or left, but only forwards.'

To W. S. Lilly, Esq.

Oxford, January 24, 1887.

‘My dear Sir, — In the sense in which you take Buddhism it is not Materialism, and I quite agree with what you say. Only so many people call Buddhism, Materialism, though what they mean is, I suppose, disbelief in a personal God. Have the two things anything in common? I do not know.

'Your answer to Huxley is very powerful. Was it he or Tyndall who said he was a materialist before, but an idealist after, a good dinner?

‘Huxley writes as he feels at the time, but he is not a close reasoner. With all that, I have great faith in him, and I think you and he would understand each other. I shall return the article in a few days — there are some passages I want to read again.

‘I have had to write about Materialism in the last chapter of my book1 [Science of Thought.]. It is finished at last, and I wonder what you will say to my representation of Materialism, Spiritualism, and our other difficulties. People will call it Nominalism and have done with it, though it is the very opposite of the old Nominalism. It is a book I have written for myself, and I doubt whether it will produce the slightest effect. But I believe in Karma — it is done: that is enough.’

From the time of his gifted daughter’s death Max Muller’s thoughts often turned again to Germany, but he mentioned it to but few friends, and it was therefore a surprise, but a deep consolation and gratification, when he received the following message from his Sovereign through Princess Christian, by whose gracious permission both the message and Max Muller’s answer are given here.

The Queen wrote: —

Osborne, February 6, 1887.

'I hear with dismay of the possible intention of Prof. Max Muller to leave England and settle in Germany. It would be a most serious loss to the University of Oxford, and to science in this country, where he is of so much use, and is so much looked up to. For his wife and children it would be a terrible blow, for it would rend all the ties of early years, and I am sure neither he nor they would be happy. A short change of scene might be beneficial after his great loss and sorrow, but I should most earnestly deprecate his leaving this country to settle in Germany. His friends will, I am sure, urge and beg him to give this idea up, as I do.’

Max Muller’s letter to Princess Christian was as follows: —

Translation. Oxford, February, 1887.

‘Your Royal Highness,— I have been deeply moved by the gracious interest which Her Majesty has condescended to take in my plans. Ever since I came to England I have always felt the deepest reverence for Her Majesty. Though living far from the Court, I heard from my friends, Bunsen, Stockmar, Dr. Meyer, and later on Stanley, so much of the innermost sanctuary of the life of the Royal Family, that I always looked upon it as a jewel of the most perfect earthly happiness. The years of mourning which came later, and the insight into the deepest depths of the heart which Her Majesty has accorded us through her books, only heightened the feelings of respect I had cherished so long. I am not speaking of the Queen as the representative of the great power of England, before whom one bows in silent veneration. I speak of her as the noble, good, and heavily chastened woman, who, in spite of all disillusions, has never lost faith in goodness and right, and love to mankind. Words of sympathy from such a heart have moved me more deeply than I can say. I do not know how my thought of spending the evening of my life in Germany has become known. I have only talked about it with my wife and children. My wife quite agreed with me; my children, the two left to me, did not. I had therefore settled to finish up my work here, and leave this in May, and see how it suited us in Germany. After the heavy sorrows I have had here, I often have a feeling as if I must leave Oxford, and place those still left me in a place of safety. And then nearly all my old friends, who received me with open arms when I settled in England, and who made it a second home to me, are gone before me. The new generation knows me not, and jealousy, envy, and intrigues have often of late years embittered my life. I have been silent about this, but I know that my wife and others near to me have felt deeply how unfairly I have been treated, and how in certain quarters trouble has been taken to injure and thwart me in every way. But these smaller trials moved me little, compared to the great sorrow that has fallen on us. But others feel them; I only feel that I must get away; perhaps it is the feeling that I have lived too long. My work made me cling to life, and it is not yet finished. I have, however, just printed a thick volume, The Science of Thought That is the best medicine. But as the invalid after bitter medicine enjoys something sweet from time to time, so have I been refreshed by the gracious words sent me to-day through your Royal Highness. I beg you to express to Her Majesty the Queen, in my name and in the name of my good English wife, our deep gratitude. If anything can make me feel that I am still at home in England, it is the gracious message of Her Majesty.’

Early in March Max Muller’s large volume, The Science of Thought, was published, and at once called forth a good deal of adverse criticism. In writing to M. Renan, he calls it the last word on a subject that had occupied him all his life, and adds that it runs counter to all that was at the time popular in philosophy.

During the same month Max Muller delivered three lectures at the Royal Institution, on 'The Simplicity of Language, the Identity of Language and Thought, and the Simplicity of Thought,’ which are a compendium of his larger work. These lectures were published the following year, and to them the reader is referred. Max Muller’s well-known aphorism, ‘No thought without language, no language without thought,’ is there defended, particularly in a letter to a friend given in the preface; the whole correspondence on Thought without Words, between Mr. F. Galton, Mr. Romanes, the Duke of Argyll, &c., and Max Muller, which appeared in Nature, will be found reprinted in the Appendix to that work.

Of the large book one review says: —

'His book on The Science of Thought is essentially a scientific and closely reasoned work. From beginning to end he seems to have studied plain speaking, and if the terminology, or logic, or if physical science has to be used, it is always handled in a way that shall present the fewest difficulties to the general reader. We rejoice the more over this fact because Professor Max Muller has given us a book which deserves to be very widely and generally read.’

On March 26 a great banquet was held in St. James’s Hall by the German teachers in England, in honour of the ninetieth birthday of the old Emperor, and Max Muller was invited to preside. In replying to the toast of his own health, the President expressed his regret that his many occupations in Oxford allowed him to come so seldom to London, and that he therefore had so little social intercourse with his many countrymen in England; for he owned that, long as he had lived in England, German ways and German customs still appealed to his heart. Then directing his speech to the occasion of their meeting, he told his audience that he looked on their old Emperor as the greatest of German teachers, for he had taught them first of all to be diligent A Frenchman once asked how it was that the Hohenzollerns had been so successful, and was told that the Hohenzollerns were a diligent race. And the old Emperor still worked from morning till night Then the Emperor had taught them to be modest He had never looked upon himself as more than a good soldier, and all his great triumphs he attributed to his generals, his Ministers, his people. The third lesson was to be learnt from the Emperor’s perfect trust and knightly loyalty to all those who surrounded him. No Minister, and he had had Ministers of all shades of opinion, had ever complained that the Emperor had not treated him with perfect openness and fairness. Lastly, there was one lesson that teachers specially needed, as years went by and the duties of life pressed more heavily, and that was youthful spirits and energy. And from whom better than from the Emperor could they learn to remain young, even with white hair; to remain fresh and energetic, even under the most wearisome work?

Soon after this Max Muller received a letter from a Hindu of high position, telling him that, in honour of the Queen’s Jubilee, a special service was to be held in his family temple, and that presents would be made to the learned Pundits present. They were all to receive a large green and white checked shawl, and one would be forwarded to Max Muller, 'not only as a token of the respect and admiration with which we, in common with the whole Hindu community, regard you as a prominent Sanskritist, but also for your genial sympathy with the natives of this land, in every matter connected with their welfare. Unless you are willing to accept it, the service at our family temple will be incomplete.’ The offering was willingly accepted, and in the course of the summer a large chuddah shawl was received. A little later in the year Max Muller received another proof of the feeling for him in India, in a letter from a native, telling him that the writer had entrusted his photograph to a ‘trained artist, to reproduce it on a new and magnified scale, and make a portrait in oil, therewith to adorn my Ancestral Hall, where all who wish may regale their eyes with the sight of the likeness of a truly great man, a true friend of India: though no canvas which decays or marble which wears are needed to perpetuate the name of a scholar and philanthropist — yea of a Rishi, who will be remembered in India as long as Sanskrit learning endures, and a Hindu heart remains that can throb with feelings of gratitude.’

The hope Max Muller had expressed in his letter to Princess Christian of getting away from work for a time had to be given up, as he was appointed examiner in Honours in the new School of Oriental Studies; and there being no one else in Oxford who could prepare the candidates in Vedic Sanskrit, of which the Sanskrit Professor was ignorant, he gave up his plans for going abroad himself, sent his wife, son, and daughter to Wiesbaden, let his house, went into rooms at All Souls, and lectured through the term to the candidates for Honours.

To Mr. Nanjio.

April 13.

‘So you have actually been in India, to Buddha Gaya and Benares! What a pleasure and interest it must have been to you; only your stay was much too short, and I expect you will soon go again. But why not go by way of China and Tibet, and see what books and MSS. they have at Lassa? We were all in hopes of seeing you again in Oxford: that would have been an unexpected pleasure. Well, I hope it may be so yet, only I am getting very old, and if you want to see me this side of Nirvana, you must make haste. I suppose you found my last letter at Tokio after your return from India. I wrote to you that the beautiful crepe had arrived, and had been much admired by my wife and daughter.

'I also received the books you sent me. One copy of the translation of my essay on Nirvana I sent to the British Museum. Your book on the Buddhist sects in Japan is very interesting, and I hope you will go on with your work, in spite of the opposition which you meet with. What you want in Japan is an historical study of Buddhism, and of other religions too. Unless you know how a thing came to be what it is, you do not know what it is. A comparative study of religions is very useful if it gives you the history of these religions. You will find in my Hibbert Lectures and in my Introduction to the Science of Religion all that is wanted for teaching that subject. The other Hibbert Lectures by Le Page Renouf, Rhys Davids, Kuenen, Pfieiderer, and Reville are also very useful. But before we compare, we must thoroughly know what we compare. I therefore still think we ought to publish the translations of the texts considered as canonical in Japan. You will find such a book very useful, but I do not like to publish anything incomplete.'

To Sir Robert Collins.

All Souls, April 23.

'I shall have to stay here till the end of June, and act as examiner in the Oriental School It is a curious sensation, living in a small and decrepit college room, shouting for a servant out of window, dining in hall, and all that. Still every change does one good, at least for a time.

‘My wife will be very sorry that she cannot avail herself of the gracious Invitation of H.R.H. the Duchess of Albany. If I may come without her, I should enjoy a quiet Sunday at Claremont very much. I am afraid I cannot or ought not to be away on Friday, as my pupils depend on me, but if I might come from Saturday till Monday my conscience need not smite me.’

Among other subjects occupying Max Muller’s mind this year, that of Indian infant marriage and enforced widowhood, and particularly the case of Rukhmabai, took a prominent place, and he wrote many forcible letters on the point to the Times, at the same time carrying on a large correspondence with people interested in these matters in England, America, and India. His friend Mr. Malabari, of Bombay, had for several years been spending his time, money, and strength on behalf of his young countrywomen. To Max Muller the subject was interesting, not merely from its moral and physical aspect, but in connexion with the ancient Indian laws. On April 17 he wrote to the Times: —

‘Sir, — I am not going to weary you with all the judicial lore bearing on the question of what is called infant marriage in India. It is accessible now to every one who cares for it. I myself adhere to the statement which I made in my Hibbert Lectures, 1878, that Manu wishes a young man to marry when he is about 24 years of age, and a girl when she is fit for marriage; voila tout But the case of Rukhmabai has really very little to do with Indian law. Let the Indian law be what it is, let public opinion in India sanction the sale and so-called marriage of children of three or four years of age, let those who, like Rukhmabai and others, revolt against this degrading slavery submit to being boycotted or out-casted, but what has the English law to do with such abominations? Why should the English law offer to aid in the restitution of conjugal rights, supposing that conjugal rights exist? We read in no Indian law book that a young girl who refuses to fulfil a contract to which she was no party, or objects to being made a wife by force, should be sent to prison for six months. Whatever the High Court may have decided, the sooner English judges wash their hands of such iniquities the better for the good repute of English law. These arc questions which concern Hindoos and Hindoo lawyers. What concerns Englishmen and English lawyers and, more than all, Englishwomen is that the strong arm of the English law should not be rendered infamous in aiding and abetting unnatural atrocities.'

He was careful not to take up Rukhmabai’s case with inconsiderate haste, but he felt that use might be made of it to draw general public attention to the miseries of infant marriage, but more especially to the sufferings of the half-million of child-widows, forced to lead a life of degradation and misery, not allowed to remarry, who are treated like lepers, goaded into suicide or infamy, and who have no idea of what happiness in life means. When his friend Ramabai started her homes for child-widows at Poona, Max Muller gave her scheme his warmest support, and aided Mr. Malabari when he arrived in England to draw public attention to the evils of child -marriage. Thoroughly acquainted with native feelings, prejudices, and laws, Max Muller fully recognized the difficulty of the task undertaken by his reforming friends, and founded his hopes for improvement mainly on the spread of education in India, among women as well as men.

Just before the Jubilee festivities Max Muller lost his brother- in-law and friend Theodore Walrond, a man whose ripe judgement and upright character were a guide and help to him in his early Oxford days, whilst his affectionate sympathy had greatly cheered the dark years that preceded Max Muller’s marriage.

A week later Max Muller was commanded to Buckingham Palace to present the Jubilee offering of the German colony in England, a large picture of all the living members of the Royal Family. Here he met the Crown Prince, and was greatly distressed at his altered looks, which those who had seen him at a distance in the great Jubilee procession, where he bore himself so gallantly, 'a very perfect knight,’ had not noticed. He could hardly speak above a whisper; and, though gracious and cordial as ever, they could have but little conversation.

A fortnight in July was spent by Max Muller and his wife at Salcombe, with his old friend Mr. Froude, who vainly tried to imbue Max with his own love of yachting. It was fiercely hot weather, and though the sea was generally like glass, the heat had all the effect of rough weather, and after a few attempts Max stayed on shore. The country round was explored on foot, or driving, and the old friends enjoyed their time together like school-boys.

On July 16 Max Muller had his last interview with the Crown Prince, whom he had known from the days he spent in Oxford, under his guidance, in the year 1851. He was ordered to dine and sleep at Windsor, to meet the Prince, who had since the Jubilee been at Balmoral, and had returned south, very much benefited by the fine Scotch air. He was able to talk with Max Muller for fully half an hour, till one of the equerries came up and said, 'Your Royal Highness, not another word!' and the friends parted to meet no more. It was on this occasion that Max Muller saw one of the Indian Princes perform his strange homage to the Queen. One of the three Rajahs present, in his full Oriental costume, was standing with his curved sword wrapped up in a magnificent shawl under his left arm. As the Queen approached him, she held out her hand, which the Rajah took, and whilst he held it, he prostrated himself and struck the ground at her feet three times with his forehead, and then sprang lightly up. The whole movement was made with perfect ease and grace, and, strange to say, without causing Her Majesty the least inconvenience, though she found it difficult to repress all signs of astonishment.

To Dr. Hosaus.

Oxford, 20, 1887.

'Though I have given up all hope of seeing the monument to my father with my own eyes, I considered it my bounden duty to wait on the King of Greece yesterday, during his stay in London. The King spoke with the warmest interest about the monument, and assured me that the marble bad been chosen, and was ready for sending as soon as the sculptor wants it. I could not naturally expect more, and I think it is now a mere matter of business. I was very sorry that I could be of no use to the Prince of Anhalt during his stay in London, I was away for my health in Devonshire, far from any railroad, and ten hours from London. It would have been a real pleasure and honour to have shown the Prince the beauties of Oxford.'

To Professor Noire.

Translation. Oxford, July 23, 1887.

‘I suppose I must have over-exerted myself in the attempt to finish my book, and then there has been so much sad trouble among relations and friends, that I had to lie by and be quiet for a while. I went for a fortnight to my old friend Froude, the historian, on the sea-coast of Devon-beautiful country, beautiful sea, dear people, but the heat was too much. I had to return to go to Windsor to see the Queen and to meet some Indian Rajahs; then to the King of Greece, who had provided the marble for my father's monument; and so forth, from one thing to another, so that one never seems to get any real rest. I mean to try the end of next week what Scotland will do; at all events I shall then be far from all worry. I saw the Crown Prince several times. When 1 met him the last time, his voice had come back.

'Yes, indeed, the papers attack my book thoroughly, but I come across very little of true understanding, with the exception of Romanes, and he a Darwinian. He writes to tell me that he has been convinced by me, and that means much in these days. The “Spencerians” are furious and insulting, but no answer will be given to them. The ignorance of these people is marvellous. Has nothing been heard in Germany yet? What do you think of an essay about the correspondence I sent to you? I am just reading Taine's book, De l'Intelligence. I read it some time ago, but I had quite forgotten it. We approach each other closely with regard to the later development of language. He wrote to me about this, and I ought to have referred to him more clearly in my book. But you cannot think of everything. I do not feel well, but hope for better times.'

To Monsieur Taine.

Oxford, 27, 1887.

'I cannot understand how it has happened that in my book I have forgotten my best ally. I read your book De l'Intelligence, when you presented it to me. I made notes and extracts, but while writing my book these notes escaped my eyes and ray memory, because I had lately been reading chiefly English writers. I deplore my stupidity, and I am now reading your book again, and shall take the first opportunity of appealing to your name and authority as completely covering my position, and extending even beyond. My position is that what we call thought or ratiocination is neither more nor less than language minus the spoken words — in fact, thought stands to language as memory stands to perception. Of course, if penser [Google translate: think] is used in the case of sentir [Google translate: to feel] as Spencer does, then we must have another word, possibly to reason, raisonner. No doubt it is difficult for one nation of philosophers to understand another nation of philosophers. It was easier to have an international philosophy when there was an international language, Latin. However, I do not despair; nay, I hope that a philosophical study of language will help towards it.

‘We are going to Scotland on Friday next, and I have taken your two volumes of Intelligence with me.'

August was spent in Scotland with Max Muller’s old friend Professor William Sellar, of Edinburgh, and his family. Many expeditions were taken, among others one to Craigenputtock, where they explored Carlyle's house, and looked with special interest at the kitchen where Mrs. Carlyle sat up baking the loaf of bread, on which she wrote the noble letter: ‘I remained the only person not asleep in a house in the middle of a desert, my body aching with weariness, my heart aching with a sense of degradation.' Then she thought of Benvenuto Cellini watching his ‘Perseus.' ‘What is the mighty difference between a statue of Perseus and a loaf of bread, so that each be the thing one’s hand has found to do? I cannot express the consolation this germ of an idea spread over my uncongenial life.’ [/quote]

To Moncure Conway, Esq.

Daley, August 11.

‘People begin to wonder a little whether there is really something in my book. I had a long controversy with Romanes, and he writes to me that he is now on my side. That does not happen often. Sir James Stephen is writing an article for the Nineteenth Century, likewise as a convert, but the Spencerians are fire and fury. Is it true that Whitney’s mind is affected? I wrote a reply to his last attack, but I have held it back, because I was told he was in a very critical state. I am very busy, and in addition to all I shall have to bring out a new edition of my Rig-veda, six volumes quarto. The first edition took me twenty-five years; I hope the second will not take quite so long.'

The above letter mentions the new work which opened before Max M tiller during this year, a second edition of the Rig-veda. As early as 1884 he had proposed to the India Office a reprint of Vols. I and II, as Vol. I was out of print, and but few copies of Vol. II were left, whilst constant complaints reached him from India of the difficulty of getting complete copies of the first edition, which could only be purchased at from £20 to £30 instead of £10. Max Muller proposed to add to Vol. I the various readings of Sayana's Commentary which had been omitted in the first edition of that volume, as well as the more correct readings in the text founded on better manuscripts which he had himself acquired since 1849, The Secretary of State offered to provide funds for Vol. I, but he rejected the idea of reprinting Vol. II as too expensive. Max Muller had to give up the reprinting of Vol. I eventually, as the young English scholar on whose services he reckoned had undertaken other work. Then came an offer from the Maharajah of Vijayanagara, the place where Sayana, the great commentator, was born, to defray the expenses of a reprint of the whole six volumes of Max Muller’s edition of the and to pay the salary of an assistant for four years.

Max Muller wrote to the Maharajah as follows: —

7, Norham Gardens, Oxford.

'Most Illustrious and Most Generous Maharajah, — The letter which your Highness addressed to me from Madras has been a source of great satisfaction to me. It proves to me that a patriotic interest in the ancient literature of India is not yet extinct in the hearts of those who used to be its friends and patrons. A nation which cares no longer for its ancient history and its national literature deprives itself of one of the mainstays of its national life. We may be better and wiser than our forefathers, but we owe what we are to what they have done for us. To forget their names and their work shows on a larger scale the same want of piety which the neglect of Shraddh would betray in our own family. Though yours may be a new dynasty, yet you enjoy the glorious name of the ancient kings of Vijayanagara; and that under your auspices the great Commentary of Sayana on the Rig-veda, which owes its origin to the liberality of King Bukka of Vijayanagara, should now be given to the world again, will remain, I believe, for ever one of the most memorable events in the history of India.

‘There ought to be no delay. I am sixty-three years old, and I should like to live to see the work finished.

'I shall of course much desire to dedicate this new edition to your Highness. But as the first edition is dedicated to the Empress of India, I should have first to ask Her Majesty’s permission. If there should be any difficulty, we might ask to be allowed to dedicate the work to her in common, you as the patron, I as the workman.

'I am truly pleased that I shall now be enabled to leave behind me a new and complete edition of the Rig-veda, a work to which I have dedicated the best years of my life, and which even now has disappeared from the market. As to my other books, I shall make a selection of those which are likely to be of interest to you, and pray your acceptance of them as a small token of my gratitude. I have the honour to be, with sincere regard and gratitude to your Highness,

‘Yours very faithfully,

‘F. Max Muller.’

This new edition was intended chiefly for India. The Maharajah wished to print the work in India, but this was soon found to be impracticable, and it was printed, like the first edition, at the Oxford University Press. The Maharajah concludes one of his first letters to Max Muller thus: 'I wish that some time before long we may have the pleasure of congratulating you on the recognition by the English Government of your great services to India.' The Maharajah was a keen sportsman, but not a literary man; and this undertaking, which cost above £4,000, showed a truly patriotic spirit on his part, a proper pride in his country and its ancient sacred book, and an enlightened wish to aid in its preservation. ‘Besides,’ as he naively stated in one of his letters, ‘I thought it might be good for my soul.’ After some delay, a careful young Sanskritist, Dr. Winternitz, was found, who came to England and devoted himself for four years to the correction of the text, and the reading of proof-sheets, under Max Muller’s supervision.

To B. M. Malabari, Esq.

Oxford, October 27, 1887.

‘I gather from your last letter that you are not discouraged, and that is everything. Reforms move very slowly, still they move, and what you have done has already borne good fruit. The first thing now is to help Rukhmabai through her troubles, and to get the paragraph about imprisonment cancelled. After that, try to establish schools or refuges for widows. Here you might combine with Ramabai. I suppose she will soon return to India. She has become a Christian, but she is not narrow-minded, and may be made useful. Your idea of founding a Mission of Social Reform with your friend Dagaram Gidumal is excellent. Only do not let people think that by Reform you mean Europeanization. On many points your native customs are excellent, and far better adapted to your country than English customs. I do not know much about great towns, like Calcutta or Bombay, but in your villages and smaller towns the tone of morality seems to me much higher than in Europe, your family life much happier, your criminal statistics much lower. If I can be of any use, you know I am always ready to help. But remember, your countrymen do not like advice from outsiders, and they are quite right in that. Remember also that I am getting old, and my time is much occupied.’

In October Max Muller heard of the death of his old friend from University days at Leipzig and Berlin, Dr. Prowe of Thorn. Little as they could see of each other from the time Max Muller settled in England, the sense of warm friendship never diminished. Of all his University friends, Prowe was the nearest to his own heart, and had formed the most intimate friendship also with his mother and sister. The writer Fontane was now the only one left of those early days.

To Lieutenant Prowe.

Translation. Oxford, October 16.

‘My dear Lieutenant,— It becomes more and more lonely on earth, all one’s friends precede one, and one sometimes thinks that one has been forgotten. And though I only saw little of your dear father in later life, I always cherished the feeling, when turning back to the memory of old times, that another still shared with me the joy of the same memories. To become old is to become poor, and few, I think, have lost so much as I have.

‘That your father remembered us in the last hours of his life is very precious to me. My mother and my sister were affectionately devoted to him all their lives, and we had such bright and happy hours together, such as never come again in later life. Please express to your honoured mother my deepest sympathy. There is one comfort for old age— one feels so much nearer to the future life than to the present; though we must still wait on patiently, and we know we shall not wait much longer.

'I press your hand in warmest sympathy, and I thank you for your sad but kind lines, which did me good.

‘Ever your faithful and sincere.’

Early in November the University Independent Club, at Glasgow, selected Max Muller as their candidate for the Lord Rectorship. It was soon found that the contest would be a very keen one, and that Max Muller would have small prospect of success; his name was therefore withdrawn, and Lord Lytton was elected as the nominee of the University Conservative Club.

To The Secretary of the Glasgow University Independent Club.

Oxford, November 9.

'I have highly appreciated the honour of being selected as your non-political candidate for the Rectorship of Glasgow University. You did not lead me to expect that you would be able to succeed on this occasion, but as you thought that a protest, from however small a minority, against the present system of electing your Rector might have a salutary effect in future, I was willing to assist you in a movement which seemed to me both right and politic.

‘I am far from thinking that the election of a Rector of your ancient and illustrious University ought not to be considered as a political act. Man is by nature a political animal, and the sooner young men are brought to learn their responsibility as citizens, the better for them and for the commonwealth which they will have to serve hereafter.

‘But a political act, in the true sense of the word, requires the putting aside of all private interests and the sacrifice of all partisanship. I can well understand, therefore, that the present moment, when the terror of the caucus has muffled the expression of all independent thought, and the eagerness for power has clouded even the strongest intellects, was ill chosen for the assertion of your principles, and I request you to withdraw my name from the coming contest.'

To Professor Romanes.

Oxford, November.

‘One line to say how grateful I feel for your review. Of course we differ toto caelo [Google translate: the whole sky] as to the nature of language, which you treat as mere expression of impression, i.e. cries, while I hold language, or [x], in the true sense, to be a totally different act, beginning with the consciousness of a repeated act; the first generalization possible for man; and then a constant classifying of the individual under the general. We speak of different things, though we use the same word. However, we must learn to agree to differ; we cannot all think the same thoughts, or use the same words. Of course much of our communication consists in expressions, signs, gestures, looks; but animals are the best proof that such communication does not develop into language; at least has not done so hitherto, except in the case of that one animal we call man.'

M. Barthelemy-St.-Hilaire presented a report of Max Muller’s Science of Thought to the French Institute, and concluded his report thus: —

'Cest beaucoup, dans des etudes aussi ardues, d’apporter pour sa part des idees originales, qui doivent eveiller l'examen au risque de la contradiction, venant d'un ecrivain aussi savant et aussi autorise.’ [Google translate: 'It's a lot, in such arduous studies, to bring to one's share original ideas, which must arouse examination at the risk of contradiction, coming from such a learned and authoritative writer.’]

To C. J. Longman, Esq.

December 1.

‘Sir James Stephen’s article, which was to appear in the December number of the Nineteenth Century, has evidently been crowded out. It was too long, and Sir James objected to cut it into two. As to the Nation, it is generally supposed that one line in the Nation is better than a column in any other American paper. The last sentence of the review was: A work in which two of the direst and hardest of studies, Analytic Philology and Mental Philosophy, are made at once lucid and attractive, is an acquisition for which all students of those mysteries have reason to be grateful.” The Nation, and French Institute, and Sir James Stephen would fairly represent America, France, and England.’

Towards the close of this year, Max Muller, at the request of the Rev. H. J. Bidder, the lately appointed Vicar of St. Giles, the parish in which 7, Norham Gardens is situated, presided at a Missionary Meeting held in the hall of St. John’s College. The hall was very full. The subject for discussion was the Christian missionary in his relations to other religions. The speech is so clear an expression of Max Muller’s views, with regard to alien (so often wrongly called false) religions, that parts are given in the Appendix.
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Re: The Life and Letters of The Right Hon. Friedrich Max Mul

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Vedic Lectureship. Elected Gifford Lecturer at Glasgow. Death of Emperor William L Memorial oration. Doctor of Bologna. Death of Emperor Frederick. Colonel Olcott. Lecture at Bradford. First Gifford Lectures. Humble admirers. Lecture at Mansion House. Death of Professor Noire. Lectures at Sheffield, Leeds, and Toynbee Hall Speech at Royal Academy Banquet. Daughter’s engagement. Lectures at University Extension Meeting. Oriental Congress in Sweden. Order of Polar Star.

Hardly had the January Term begun, before Max Muller was requested to continue his Vedic lectures and work. The Dean of Christ Church, as he wrote himself, 'most reluctantly’ undertook to bring the Vedic difficulties before Max Muller, and ask his help. His reply follows: —

To Dean Liddell.

January 26.

'I am now sixty-four years old, and before I answer your question let me tell you what an accumulation of work has fallen on my shoulders.

‘1. The Sacred Books of the East, with endless correspondence. I have hitherto kept to the three volumes a year, but I broke down last year, and could pass one volume only.

‘2. Translations of Vedic Hymns. One volume is printed. I am hard at work at the second.

‘3. New edition of the Rig-veda. I am bound by agreement to pass two sheets a week for press, that is one hundred sheets per annum for four years.

'4. Revising German translation of my Science of Thought, two sheets per week.

'5. Rewriting of my Lectures on the Same of Language, to be ready before the end of the year.

‘6. Threatened new editions of two other books of mine.

‘7. There is one more book I want to write before it is too late, The Science of Mythology.

'Yet, in spite of all this, I was quite ready to give my lectures on the Veda this term. But I had lost nearly four weeks with illness, so that when the young men came to me to ask me to lecture, I told them that really I could not. It gave me real pleasure to work with the selected candidates last year. They were hard-working, bright fellows, and I only wish I could have done more for them. ... I am quite willing to resume my lectures on Vedic scholarship, but if I do that, I must be allowed to bring out one or two volumes of the Sacred Books per annum instead of three. ... I believe that all that is required for the candidates could be done if I lectured to the more advanced students, I, shall always be most happy if I can in any way take part in the work of the University, particularly in the preparation of the young men who are destined for the Civil Service in India. The University would not have me when I was young and worth having. Being old now and not worth having, I cannot offer my services, but must wait till I am asked.’

The Dean thought that the Delegates of the Press would agree to rearrange the publication of the Sacred Books, and proposed that a Readership in Vedic Sanskrit should be founded, so as to make amends to Max Muller for the £200 he would lose yearly from the Sacred Books, if he only brought out one volume a year instead of three. This, having passed Council and Congregation, was thrown out in Convocation at the end of February, to Max Muller’s great relief, who found himself able to return to his own quiet pursuits, though he had been willing to put himself into harness again to help the University out of the difficulty they had brought on themselves by the Sanskrit election of 1860.

To Dean Liddell.

7, Norham Gardens, February 24.

‘No one could have been more pleased with the vote of Convocation than I was. I do not think that those who pressed me behaved quite well, but I am grateful all the same, for I could not have done the work without giving up what at my time of life is, I believe, more important. I have accepted the Gifford Lectures at Glasgow; they will be the outcome of the Sacred Books of the East. If I can finish them I shall be satisfied.'

Though Max Muller rejoiced, all those interested in the Oriental School were disappointed at the vote in Convocation. One prominent M.A. wrote: ‘This is a great blow. I do not know how the school is to be carried on.' From another. Max Muller heard: ‘It never occurred to me that any opposition was possible. I feel that, as a member of Council, I owe you an apology for having been a party to introducing your name into a discussion that has ended so disastrously’; and one member of the Board of Oriental Studies felt so annoyed at the vote that he withdrew at once from the Board.

Early in January several of Max Muller’s friends in Edinburgh had urged his election as the first Gifford Lecturer in that University. An old Edinburgh man, Hutchinson Stirling, was chosen, and the following letter was written on the occasion to Professor Lorimer, one of Max Muller’s most eager supporters: —

Oxford, January 31.

‘Your letter was a great relief to me. Though I had told you how little I thought myself fit for the Gifford Readership, and how over- whelmed with work I was, yet I do not know that I should have been able to resist the temptation of accepting a position which offered so grand an opportunity of saying to the world what one wished to say on the subject of “Natural Religion." Since I wrote to you last, a new work has come to me which I could not decline, a new edition of the Rig-veda with Sayana’s Commentary, six volumes quarto, each of 1,000 pages. How I shall ever finish it I do not know, but there are certain things to which one cannot say No, and I am afraid your Readership would have been one of them. I know the man whom you have elected: he is a bona fide student of philosophy, and he will tell you what Natural Religion would or could or should have been. I think the time for that is past. We want to know what Natural Religion has been; that is enough for any man who knows what history means, and what even a Hegelian will have to admit, if he knows the true secret of Hegel, that the Rational only is the Real, nay what even the Darwinians will have to learn in time, that Natural Selection is in truth Rational Elimination, and that Development means the historical triumph of what is right, or reasonable, or, as they now say, fittest.

'Allow me to thank you for your kind feelings towards me. I should have enjoyed a season at Edinburgh very much.'

As soon as the result of the Edinburgh election was known, Max Muller heard from Principal Caird that the Senate of Glasgow University would like to appoint him to lecture in the autumn of that year, and no sooner had he accepted the proposal to stand than he received by telegram the news of his unanimous election. Meantime a letter was on its way to him from the University of St. Andrews, but arrived too late—he was already elected at Glasgow.

Early this year Max Muller brought out his Biographies of Words, and The Home of the Aryas.

'The second part of the book,’ says one review, ‘is concerned with the discussion as to the home of our Aryan ancestors at the time of their division into the branches of the race which we now recognize. The early philologists were unanimous in selecting Asia as the continent, and there was a general disposition to fix on the mountain ganglion in Asia, the Pamir Steppe, known locally as "the roof of the world." Prof. Muller declines to regard it as possible to determine either the exact locality in which the proto-Aryans lived, or the exact language they spoke, or the date at which they parted company. He thinks that the preponderance of evidence favours an Asiatic rather than a European home for the whole race.'

The Appendix to this work contains several very valuable letters to Max Muller. One is on different plants and animals, others on the original name of Jade, whilst the last is on the question whether it was iron or copper that was known to the proto-Aryans, in addition to gold and silver. These subjects are all treated as throwing light on the home of the Aryas.

On March 9 the old German Emperor died, and Max Muller was asked to deliver the Oration at the great Memorial Meeting held by the Germans in Exeter Hall on March 24. It was a memorable occasion. The hall was hung with black relieved by silver, there was splendid music, the Funeral March from Beethoven’s ‘Grosse Symphonic,' Siegfried’s Tod from the ‘Gotterdammerung,' and lastly Wagner’s ‘Kaiser-Marsch’; and the ‘Integer vitae’ of Fleming, and Neefe’s ‘Wie sie so sanft ruh’n, [Google translate: How they rest so gently]’ were exquisitely rendered by the joint choirs of the various German Musical Societies in London. Max Muller's speech was listened to with deepest interest and really breathless attention, and his allusion to the Emperor Frederick moved all hearts, and many were in tears. Our present King and other members of the Royal Family were present, and the hall was crowded, every one in deep mourning. Max Muller's speech is given in the Appendix.

To Herr G. von Bunsen.

Oxford, March 27.

' I am indeed glad to see your writing again. Old age comes with its troubles. I, too, was unwell, but am now better. I could not let the opportunity pass without speaking my mind and my heart. It was an effort, but I could not say No. Yes, the days of ’48, where are they, and how much is forgotten! As I was about it, I have written something about the present Emperor for the next Contemporary Review. One does what one can, what will come is in other hands. If it were only spring perhaps you would come to us, and we might talk over old times. There are few left with whom one can do so.'

The following letter bears no date, but must have been written to the Crown Prince during his stay at San Remo: —


'From day to day I have asked myself, Shall I write, or shall I be silent? But I can no longer resist the desire. I was so firmly convinced that all danger was over, and now suddenly this terrible news, overpowering, hopeless, showing men the power of the gods,” these are the words that are always recurring to my mind. And yet not hopeless. No, imperial hero! You have seen greater hopes fulfilled, greater than the greatest kings and emperors. You were willing to lay down your life for that which Germany achieved with you and through you — Koniggratz, and Worth, and Sedan. Who has such names on his shield? And yet that which was behind the shield, deep in the heart, was greater and finer, and that remains untouched. If we only hold fast the belief that nothing happens but by the will of God, we learn to be still, and can bear everything. The older one grows, the more one feels sure that life here is but a long imprisonment, and one longs for freedom and higher efforts. An imperial crown is a glorious ornament, and difficult to renounce, but how small and insignificant is all in this life, when we raise our eyes above. Gazing up to the Lord of the Universe, all strife is made easy. We speak different tongues when we think of the Highest, but we all mean the same thing. But one thing, as long as there is life there is hope, and a man who not only fills his place in life, but has won it for himself, does not give it up. The Englishman is proud, when it can be said, "He died in harness!” In one, in two, in five years much can be done, and much hindered, and the German people stand at your side, and will bear no tyranny. I can think of nothing, can do nothing; it is as if the last dream of life were dreamt. On all sides one sees and hears German mourning. Yet it is well, that we can suffer with each other. What can I say to her Imperial Highness, the Crown Princess? That gold shines brightest in the furnace. My wife feels all that I feel.

‘In old and true friendship.’

Early in April Max Muller was called on to mourn the loss of another relative and faithful friend, his cousin Emilie, Baroness Stolzenberg, widow of Prince Wilhelm of Dessau, whom she had survived twenty-three years. From his childhood she had been devoted to her little cousin, and after her marriage helped him in many ways, not only with money, but by her kindly support, when other members of the family looked askance at what they thought his unpractical views of life and work. To her he owed the introduction to Bunsen, to whom she wrote about him and his projects, so early as 1844.

To His Daughter Beatrice.

Oxford, April 1, 1888.

'My dear Beatrice, — Aunt Emilie’s death breaks another link that kept me to this life. From my earliest childhood she loved me dearly, and if anything happened to me, good or evil, my thoughts turned to her. There are few left to whom I feel still tied; I shall leave few behind who love me, but there are many who loved me, and to whom I feel united as closely as ever. Those who are gone before us can be very near to us, and they seem to belong to us altogether.

‘Ever your loving Father.’

The following letter was written in reply to one received from the Duke of Argyll on the subject of Max Muller's speech on March 24: —

To The Duke of Argyll.

Torquay, April 14, 1888.

'I did not wish to imply that Bunsen advised the King to yield to the Berlin mob. Bunsen, as far as I remember, was not in Berlin at that time. Of course, like everybody else, Bunsen was a little off his balance in February, 1848, and he thought that what happened in 1871 ought to happen in 1848. I believe he exercised an excellent influence on the Prince of Prussia at that time, and his advice has borne good fruit.

‘When I spoke of the late Emperor as great, I thought I had made it clear that I spoke of his work, not of his personal gifts. But that was the very lesson I wanted to teach — that a very ordinary lever may be used in history to lift the world out of its old hinges. He had a good horse to ride, and he proved himself a good jockey. In his character, so far as I knew him, there was much to admire. He never was self- indulgent; he was very humble, very industrious, very truthful How different from Napoleon le Grand! As to Charlemagne, we know very little of his private character — what we know of his family life does not give one a very high idea. But great as the work is which he achieved, it seems to me that a united Germany in the centre of modern Europe is a greater work, and the difficulties were enormous. No doubt, the Emperor had Bismarck’s assistance. But Bismarck too is personally — so I am told — a very ordinary mortal; and far less free from human weaknesses than the Emperor. But he too knew how to ride his horse, and a splendid horse it was. In the end it was the German people, and in one sense the German schoolmaster, who really did the work. But that is understood, and when we say that the Emperor won the battle of Sedan, we mean his generals, his officers, his soldiers down to the smallest drummer-boy. I have great faith in the future of Germany. If only England would take a leap and openly join the League of Peace, I do not see how’ war for some time to come would be possible. Where I admire Bismarck’s cleverness is in his allowing so much Home Rule to Saxony, Bavaria, Wurtemberg, &c., and yet reserving all imperial interests for the Reichstag. That showed a bold hand and real political genius. I hope that no attempt will be made to simplify matters, as they call it, and to swallow up some of the minor principalities. They are centres of life and very useful, without being dangerous any longer.

'. . .On philosophical questions I should like to write to you more fully than I can at present. It requires an effort to see the inseparableness of language and thought. It has taken me a whole life to perceive it. People imagine that I hold that language and thought are identical. There is no sense in that. No two things can be identical But they can be inseparable — neither can exist without the other, that is what I mean. We imagine that we can think without words, because we can distinguish between the sound and the meaning. So we can between an orange and its skin, but in rerum natura [Google translate: of things nature] there is no skin without an orange nor an orange without a skin. You were one of the few men in England who I thought would see what I meant. But it requires an effort, and it is only an historical study of language in all its phases that has at last led me to the conviction that the Greeks were right, and that what really makes us men and distinguishes us from the animal, is the Logos, i.e. the gathering, or, as Hobbes said, addition and subtraction.'

To The Same.

Oxford, May 17, 1888.

'I send you my paper, which will not take up much of your time, and yet, I hope, make my meaning of the oneness of thought and language clearer.

‘When we say that we think of a thing, but cannot recollect its name, does not that mean that we think of it under different higher names, but cannot recollect its less special name? If I cannot recollect the name of a flower, I think of it and know it ail the time under its more general names, say a kind of anemone, a flower, a growing thing, a visible thing, &c. I know it has a special name of its own, and I may remember that name in German, but cannot recall it in English — perhaps never knew it in English. All this does not prevent my thinking of the special flower under less special names, but to think of it at all, not merely to stare at it or remember its image, I must have names. If that is once admitted, much will follow from it — but I shall not have time to work it out.'

To Professor Buhler.

Translation. May 27.

'. . . Dr. Winternitz is getting on now much better, and if we go on working together so steadily, it is possible that I may live to see the conclusion of the Editio Secunda [Google translate: Second Edition].

'My lectures at Glasgow on Religious Philosophy are interfering with my work, especially the second volume of the Rig-veda translation gets interrupted. Well, I sometimes seem to myself a maid of all work,” for everything is put upon me, though I am no longer young. Happily, however, my health is much better, and work agrees with me.'

Early in June the Eighth Centenary of the University of Bologna was celebrated in that city. Max Muller was invited, but was unable to be present. He received the Honorary Degree of Doctor of Philosophy, and sent his thanks to the Rector as follows: —

Oxford, June 12.

'Most honoured and illustrious Rector,— I received to-day the Diploma by which the University of Bologna conferred on me the honour of Doctor of Philosophy at the celebration of its eighth centenary.

'Though I deeply regret that I was not able to be present to witness that great historical event, I feel proud indeed that your ancient and world-famed University should have thought of me as worthy of a distinction which can never be rivalled by any other honours.

'A University which has lived and worked 800 years represents one-third of the whole history of Europe.

'If 800 years constitute the life of your University, another 800 years will carry us back to the time of Constantine and the recognition of Christianity as the religion of the Roman Empire, while another 800 years would bring us face to face with Junius Brutus, the founder of the Roman Republic.

'These thrice 800 years constitute the whole growth of that European civilization of which we are now enjoying the fruits, and which no country represents more worthily than Italy, the mother of civil self-government in ancient times, the guardian of religion during the darkest ages, and the nurse of academic learning and enlightenment during the last 800 years.

‘To have had ray name enrolled amongst those who on so solemn an occasion as the Sooth anniversary of the University of Bologna were chosen as not unworthy members of your ancient and illustrious corporation, is a reward far exceeding my deserts, but valued with all the deeper gratitude.

‘Please, as Rector of the University of Bologna, to accept my sincere thanks and convey them to my honoured colleagues of the Faculty of Philosophy.

‘I have the honour to remain, most illustrious Colleague,

‘Yours, with sincere regard and gratitude.’

His deep feeling of anxiety about the Emperor Frederick was telling on Max Muller. He felt unable to attend to his work, and went off alone to West Malvern, where the fine air and more exercise than he could take in Oxford always restored him. There he heard of the Emperor s death, and there he stayed till Commemoration, which was going on at the time of the funeral, was over.

From his Wife.

Oxford, June.

‘I don’t doubt your thoughts, like mine, have been constantly to-day at Potsdam, that palace where we have seen them in their happy private life, where all their children were born, where she has watched over her two dying children, and now over her hero husband. I thought at ten o’clock of the long silent procession winding across the park, where they used to ride daily with their children in happier days^ to that beautiful church, with the Rauch statues. I thought of our pleasant drive with them to the Prussian village, our hours with them in Venice, glimpses of them here and elsewhere from time to time, our sight of him at Eras, and all that one has hoped for and from him for years — all ended! What a perfect life it has been, as far as character goes, and who can say what of good he may not have done, in these last months of brave endurance! W. is not going to his club ball to-night. The Emperor was one of the people for whom he had a genuine feeling of respect.'

To Professor Noire.

Translation. West Malvern, June 16, 1888.

'You see I have followed your advice. I felt so tired, and fled here to the hills. The air here is a continuous refreshment, and the views are beautiful. The formation of the hills is volcanic, and they are covered everywhere with verdure. I have often been here, the last time with my two Japanese friends. One is dead, and the other is working in Japan.

‘I received the sad news from Potsdam here. How incomprehensible are these blows of fate — how wonderful the world-symphony must be in which even such discords as this cannot disturb the grand harmony! His death has entirely wiped out my last German dream. I sometimes thought that he might call me back to Germany — it might after all have been too late. I must now be content to stay here. Germany has not many attractions for me now.

'I am reading diligently now. I have read through Pfleiderer’s thick volume of Lectures, also Teichmuller's Religious Philosophy, and am now reading Gruppe’s Greek Worship and Mythology, important, or at least full of matter. His attack upon me gives me confidence in my own cause. Besides these I read many English books, which have to be read, to be en rapport [Google translate: a report] with the majority.

‘And how are you? The good will to live means so much. If you were only here, I should make you quite well. I run over the hills like a goat. I am quite alone here from morning till night; loneliness is sometimes very beneficial.’ [/quote]

To Herr G. von Bunsen.

Translation. Oxford, July 7.

'My dear Friend,— “It was not to be," that says everything, but it is like an earthquake, that overthrows everything. Who could have thought it when you brought the splendid princeps inventutis [Google translate: the prince of discovery] to Oxford! One must look very high to measure such a fate rightly. . . . My wife and children are paying visits. I sit and toil over the lectures I have to give next winter in Glasgow. Sixteen on Natural Religion. At first it was a great weight on me, now it is like new life. I was so glad to get, through you, a twenty-mark piece with the Emperor Frederick’s head. It is very beautiful, and reminds me of him, as I saw him the evening before he left Windsor. He called me one of his oldest friends; since then I have heard nothing from him. I hope you are all well. You will still have plenty to do, for I expect serious conflicts, and the time may come when the liberal party may have to support Bismarck, so keep firm in the saddle. I hope to see Morier soon.’

To G. Romanes, Esq.

July 1, 1888.

'Nothing I like better than when I meet a man who differs from me; he always gives me something, and for that I am grateful. Nor am I at all so hopeless as many people, who imagine that two people who differ can never arrive at a mutual understanding. On the contrary, I have been convinced by others and I have convinced others, particularly when we meet face to face. Why do people differ, considering that they all begin with the same love of truth, and are all influenced by the same environment? Well, they often differ, because one is ignorant of facts which the other knows and has specially studied. In that case I am willing to be guided by authority, or at all events to remain silent in the presence of those who know more facts than I do. For instance, if Chinese scholars tell me that they possess books written 4000 B.C., I hold my tongue. But in most cases people differ because they use their words loosely, and because they mix up different subjects instead of treating them one by one. I shall not therefore attempt to answer all your questions, or clear up all the points on which we differ, but take them one by one. You say that because I have proved that all A is B, I imagine I have proved that all B is A. You admit that we cannot have concepts without names, but you demur to the conclusion that we cannot have names without concepts. You see at once that you use names in two different senses. I speak first of concepts which we cannot have without names, and of such names, without which we cannot have concepts; and of such names only, I state that we cannot have them without concepts. This is a strictly logical inversion, and no more. But now you use the word name in a different sense, not as the sine qua non of a concept, but as a sign of something, a sensation, or a percept. Of course you may use name in that sense, but it leads to ambiguity. I know a good deal about the ways of parrots, and I understand the barkings of my dog better than most people. But I keep name, considering that it means originally for the signs of concepts. I should never use it for denotative signs or cries. I have shown again and again how even some of these denotative or imitative signs and cries lead a little way — chiefly by poetical metaphor— towards the confines of conceptual language, just as plants encroach on the shore-line of the animal kingdom. But the shore-line is there all the same. Now if we can come to an understanding on this point, if we can agree to use name in one sense and in one sense only, we may afterwards go on to the next point mooted in your letter. You must trust me if I tell you that the great bulk of the Sanskrit language has been derived from conceptual roots; and that words derived from cries, whether bow-wow, or pooh-pooh, or yo-he-ho, are mere outside crust. They may be called language, as we may call whistling language (there is a language consisting entirely of whistles), but we then use the same word in two very different meanings, and we have to pay for it. Language, so far as we can analyse it, begins with conceptual roots — what lies outside these roots could not be called language. How' old these roots are no one can ever find out; they are ultimate facts, just as the notes of our scale are ultimate facts for music, though we may say that they are noises rhythmified. Onomatopoeia will never lead you to [x]— for that you may trust me, for I should have been delighted if it did. So much for to-day, and simply to show in what sense I say that as we can have no concepts without names, we can have no names without concepts.'

It was in this year that Max Muller signed a protest against the sacrifice of education to examinations, contributing, with several others, an article on the subject to the Nineteenth Century, ‘Many years ago,’ he used to say, ‘we wanted examinations for the sake of schools and Universities; now we have schools and Universities solely for the sake of examinations.’ He felt that the perpetual examinations at Oxford and Cambridge had destroyed all real joy in study. He also wished to see the examinations conducted by older men, who would try to find out what candidates knew; whereas young men, who are generally appointed as examiners, try to find out what candidates do not know.

To Miss Byrd McCall.

Oxford, October 22.

‘My wife and daughter are gone to Buxton. In about a fortnight I shall go North, to Bradford, Bishopthorpe, Ripon, and then to Glasgow, where I shall stay till Christmas. I have to give sixteen lectures on Natural Religion, which is a hard task at my time of life. I have not been able to get away from Oxford the whole summer. This is my last work, and it ought to be done as well as possible, gathering up ail the threads of my former labours, and showing what their object has been. Work is life to me, and when I am no longer able to work, life will be a heavy burden.’

To B. M. Malabari, Esq.

October 24, 1888.

‘I am pleased to see that the Krishna Yajur-veda has been undertaken by the Theosophical Publication Fund. This text will be useful, and I shall be glad to subscribe to it.

'But it seems to me, considering the higher objects of the Theosophical Society, that you ought to publish a complete and correct edition of the Upanishads. The Upanishads are, after all, the most important portion of the Vedas, for philosophical purposes, and if the Theosophical Society means to do any real good, it must take its stand on the Upanishads, and on nothing else.

‘If you have sufficient funds, you should also publish the Commentaries on the Upanishads, but that may be done later. At present, a beautiful and correct edition of the text seems to me almost a duty to be performed by the Theosophical Society.’
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Re: The Life and Letters of The Right Hon. Friedrich Max Mul

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Part 2 of 2

To Miss Byrd McCall.

Oxford, October 30.

‘I wish I could think of some good book for you on Greek art, but Greek art with me belongs to the past As one grows old, one says “Good-bye” to some old friends — very soon to all Greek art has always interested me, rather for what it meant to be than for what it was. At first art was meant to express thought and feeling; it often failed, but one liked to see the effort to express something. After a time, the purport of art to express thought or feeling was forgotten; the means became the object, and we get most beautiful copies of nature, true, but nothing behind nature, nothing that speaks and tells us something. So Greek art ceased to interest me, and I am ignorant of recent literature. However, if I should think of a book likely to interest you, I shall send it.

‘I am very deep in the waters of despair! Sixteen lectures on Natural Religion is enough to drown anybody!

'I shall go next Monday to Bradford to lecture on 'Savages,' to tell them the worst savages are to be found in Europe.'

It was this year that Max Muller made personal acquaintance with Col. Olcott, one of Madame Blavatsky's ardent supporters, and a genuine believer in Esoteric Buddhism. On his return to India, he wrote: ‘I am your debtor for one of the pleasantest days I ever passed, and shall always recall it with great satisfaction. It was indeed an honour to make your acquaintance.' Col. Olcott then pressed Max Muller to consider a suggestion he had made of removing the three images of Buddha, which friends will recollect as always standing on the hearthstone in Max’s library, to a nobler place. ‘The Buddhists are very sensitive,' he says, 'about such things, and a painful impression would be made upon the mind of any sincere person of that faith, if he should call at your house and see them in your fireplace.’ Max Muller endeavoured to comfort Col. Olcott, by assuring him that with the Greeks the hearth was the most sacred spot, and this had induced him to place these Buddhas, which had been taken from the great Temple of Rangoon, in that position.

On his way to Glasgow early in November, Max Muller lectured at Bradford on 'Savages,' staying with Sir Jacob Behrens, a great benefactor of Bradford. His daughter joined him the next day, and together they went to Bishopthorpe to visit his old friend Dr. Thomson, Archbishop of York, where two pleasant days were spent. 'He is overworked,' wrote Max, ‘and has no time for anything.’ Two days were also spent at Ripon with the Bishop and Mrs. Carpenter.

By the middle of November Max Muller was settled at Glasgow with his wife and daughter, and began his first course of Gifford Lectures on Natural Religion. Everything was done by the various members of the University and many of the citizens to make the stay in their city agreeable to their guest. Soon after the first lecture the student paper Quiz announced that

‘Proud as we have been of our University, it is no exaggeration to say that additional lustre has been shed upon it by the presence of the Oxford Professor who is now delivering within its precincts the first series of Gifford Lectures. . . . We hear a good deal now and then about the industry and pluck of Scottish students. But at the conclusion of Professor Muller’s first lecture there seemed to be only one opinion among his audience, and that was, that in explaining how he had come to devote himself to the study of the sacred literature of the East, and how he hoped by means of the Gifford Lectures to complete and round off the work of his life, he had quite unintentionally taught his hearers a valuable lesson as to the power of industry and perseverance.'

After speaking of the lecturer's style, the writer ends thus; ‘He combines at once the boldness and originality of the Germans, and the clear, practical, good sense of the English.’

About 1,400 people were at the first lecture, and the audience settled down into a steady attendance throughout the course of above 1,000, which to an Oxford Professor accustomed to consider fifty a fair number, was a great gratification, and amply repaid the lecturer for all the time and thought bestowed on his work.

A friend wrote to Max Muller at the time: —

‘These lectures have given you a reason and opportunity for saying what you had to say on the greatest of all subjects. The longer one lives, the more clearly one sees the terrible mischief done to real genuine religion — I mean piety, the desire to live and work as children of the All-Father — by those who call themselves orthodox; and anything, lecture, book, or sermon, that shows clearly the universality of religious belief, that there is one feeling that should bind together all nations, is the best bit of work any one can do. How much you have done already to inculcate this: more than any one now living in England, where religious belief was and is of the narrowest — whether among High Church, Evangelicals, or Dissenters — all alike seeing true faith only in their own little sect, and complacently leaving all others out in the cold.'

Before he left Glasgow a great dinner was given to Max Muller at the University Club, which was attended by Principal Caird and many of the Professors and leading members of the city. The Scotch are fond of banquets and speeches, and on this occasion there were nine toasts, and as many as eighteen speeches. Max Muller also received a deputation from the University Independent Club, thanking him for having been willing to stand for the office of Lord Rector as the Independent candidate. Under the guidance of some of the younger Professors, he attended various students’ meetings, which recalled to him his own German student days, so different to the ‘wines’ in the Colleges of Oxford and Cambridge.

The lectures were closely followed by a large number of the Glasgow Professors, Dr. Dickson, Professor of Divinity, hearing the whole sixteen. Ministers of every denomination were in the body of the hall, Established, Free Church, Evangelical Union, &c., even Roman Catholic priests. The whole of this course was introductory, and the lectures fell under three divisions, (1) The definition of Natural Religion, (2) The proper method of its treatment, (3) The materials available for its study. On returning from Glasgow just before Christmas, Max Muller began at once to prepare these first lectures on Natural Religion for press. A separate brochure of the introductory lecture had been printed and sent to many friends. The following letter from a man in humble life shows how widely Max Muller’s works were known and appreciated. The man was known to the Sellars of Edinburgh, Max Muller’s old friends, and had often talked of his books with Professor Sellar. Hence the gift referred to in the letter: —

To Professor Max Muller.

Cab Office, Edinburgh.

‘Illustrious Sir, — I wish I could convey to you in adequate language my feelings of gratitude for the distinguished honour you have conferred upon me, in presenting me with a copy of your first lecture. My feelings have been stirred in such a manner that I have not experienced since first I read Dante. You tell the story of your life-work in so fascinating a manner that I feel in the presence and power of, I was going to say, an illustrious personage, embodying philosopher, scholar, teacher, but that does not convey what I feel You are the Dante of modern scholarship. I am all the poorer today in that I missed hearing you when you were lecturing in Edinburgh, but I shall deem it a misfortune indeed if I am not present at your concluding lecture, and witness the ovation that is awaiting you, I am sorry to trouble you for the information, but if you can get conveyed to me the date, hour, and mode of admission to your concluding lecture you will increase the obligations which I already feel.'

Some years before, travelling with his whole family from South Wales, the guard had been very helpful and attentive, and on changing trains Max Muller offered him a tip, without an idea that the man knew him by sight. ‘Oh, sir,’ said the guard, ‘would you send me instead one of your books? I have read some of them.’ Needless to say, one was sent off at once to the address the man gave.

To Professor Lorimer.

Oxford, January 20, 1889.

‘Accept my very best thanks for your letter. I wish I had known that Lord Gifford was a friend of yours. But I assure you I did my best to get information about him, and entirely failed. Mr. — is about the most reticent man I ever met. I tried all I could to make him speak, but he would not even say “Yes” or “No.” However, when I was at Edinburgh for a day I saw Lord Gifford’s brother, and though he differs from his brother, he spoke very kindly about him. Then I got some more information from his doctor, and that I have embodied in the reprint of my lecture. If the sheets are not struck off, I shall try, if you do not object, to add something from your letter, but I am afraid it is too late. I have, however, stated that Lord Gifford decidedly gave up his belief in miracles, in the ordinary sense of that word, partly as a judge, on account of want of evidence, partly as a Christian, because they seemed to him in conflict with the exalted spirit of Christ.

‘Nothing could have been kinder than my reception at Glasgow. It was hard work having to lecture in the Bute Hall, but I felt that I was in touch with many minds, and that helps. I have been asked to print my lectures as I delivered them, and not to spoil them by learned notes. I have yielded, though rather reluctantly, and I hope the first volume (Definition, Method, and Materials) will be out this summer.

‘And now allow me to ask you a question. For a busy man like me it is impossible to read books as they appear, and so I have only lately, while writing my lectures, been able to read your Institution of Law, which you kindly sent me some years ago. First let me thank you for the kind words you have said about me, and, I may add, about my old friend Bunsen. My object in reading your book was to learn something about the relation of law to religion. I see, however, that you lay the principal stress on the relation between law and ethics, though you secure for ethics a divine basis. What you say about conscience is just the same as I had said in my lectures. But though you rejoice in your Professor of Moral Philosophy not treating conscience as a separate faculty of knowing what is right or wrong, you will see that your colleague, Professor Flint, holds the old view in his Theism, i. p. 216.

‘What I am anxious to know is whether there is any book which shows how closely religion, I mean outward religion, was connected with law, and how law grew up under the wing of religion. Maine has shown it a little in his Ancient Law, and in his article on International law, as starting from Gastfreundschaft and [x].

‘But I should think the subject must have been treated in fuller detail. Could you refer me to any book not too bulky? In India the case is as clear as possible, but I want evidence from other civilized nations, and not only from savages.'

To The Same.

Oxford, January 25, 1889.

'I have just returned from London, and find your letter and your kind present waiting for me. Accept my best thanks for both. My question as to the dependence of law on religion referred to ancient times rather than to mediaeval ages, I might almost say to prehistoric times, at least to a period when the earliest legal terms, such as fas, lex, jus, spondeo, &c. [Google translate: right law, right pledge, &c.], were formal and fixed. I am afraid I shall have to be satisfied with indicating what I want to know myself, and what 1 hope some more competent person will carry out.

‘I shall not be able to gather any more information about Lord Gifford for the present. I hope some other lecturer will do fuller justice to his memory. I send you the proof-sheets of my first lecture. Would you kindly return them to me, also a little slip I sent with the first sheet, and on which I had noted down some of your remarks on Lord Gifford?'

To Professor Noire.

Translation. 7, Norham Gardens, February 9, 1889.

‘My poor dear Friend,-— I hear that you feel a little better at Mainz, but that you are still far from well. It is sad to think that everything in life turns out so different from what we expected. But ah, it is difficult to make that thought one’s own and to bear calmly all the dissonances, in the hope that in time they must all dissolve into harmony. How' I should like to come to you, but what good would that do you? And besides I am so tied here now, as I have used up all my holiday in Glasgow. But my thoughts are with you every day, and I do hope that soon I may hear better news about you. I am printing my Glasgow lectures, which still occupy me much. Other work is not lacking, and yet I feel well, though I am so much older than you are. Well, the chief thing is to keep still, and to feel the desire in oneself to get better. With all good wishes for your recovery.'

In February Max Muller opened the yearly course of University Extension Lectures in London, by a lecture at the Mansion House on ‘Some Lessons of Antiquity,’ which is published in Vol. I of the new edition of Chips. The Egyptian Hall was entirely filled, and the lecture was listened to with great interest; one of the subjects touched on — the relative weight of gold and silver coins in ancient times — calling forth a good deal of criticism in the daily papers, to which Max Muller replied, though declining to enter on the thorny paths of the question of bimetallism, where, as he said, ‘wrens make prey, and eagles may not perch.’

This year Max Muller lost his valued friend Professor Noire of Mainz. It is seldom that it happens to any one so late in life to form so close a friendship as did Max Muller with Professor Noire. It was perhaps the more strange as the friendship originated (as has been mentioned, ii. p. 37) in Noire’s violent attack on Max Muller’s earlier writings. Noire was alone in the world, entirely without relations, yet a man of the most loving nature. No wonder that his heart was moved on meeting with another equally warm and loving, and far less pessimistic than himself. Max Muller long missed and mourned his friend.

Two lectures were given in March, one at Sheffield and one at Leeds, on the Sacred Books of the East. These were almost the last single lectures Max Muller delivered anywhere out of Oxford. He found the effort and excitement more than was good for him, and though constantly pressed in later years to give single lectures in various places, he never again accepted any invitations, except one at Toynbee Hall, in April of this year, when he gave the last Saturday evening lecture for the Winter Term. This was also on the Sacred Books, The room was very full, and many were unable to gain admittance. He received an enthusiastic welcome, and hearty wishes were expressed that they might hear him again. But this was the only occasion on which he lectured at Toynbee Hall, though he had felt great interest in the institution from the first.  

To Klaus Groth.

Translation. 7, Norham Gardens, May 2, 1889.

'My congratulations for your seventieth birthday will, I fear, reach you somewhat late, but you will feel all the same the hearty greetings they are meant to convey to you. How I rejoice to hear once more that you are happy and that you have found in your Fatherland the love and appreciation which you so richly deserve. May it be granted to you to enjoy years of quiet and peace in the evening of life! I also approach to the tenth ‘‘7"of evil omen, and I long for rest, but do not find it. We are well on the whole, but after such heavy storms as we have experienced one longs for the haven of rest. Work does not decrease, but increases year by year — sometimes it seems almost too much.

‘Who knows whether the autumn may not perhaps bring me to Kiel? The King of Sweden has invited me as his guest to the International Oriental Congress at Stockholm, and it will be difficult to say "No" should there be the least possibility of going.

‘It is also possible that the monument to my father, in which you have taken such sympathetic interest, may be completed this year, and that of course would take me to Germany.'

A few days after this Max Muller attended the banquet of the Royal Academy, where he had to reply to the toast of Literature. He often said it was one of the greatest ordeals he had ever been called on to pass through, and he used to confess that he came to a pause in the middle of his speech, his attention having been diverted for a moment by a passing incident. The pause could have been but momentary, and he must have recovered his thread in an instant, though to him it had seemed an agony of long duration, for when Browning congratulated him on his brilliant speech, and Max Muller replied in return, ‘But the pause was awful!’ 'Pause?’ said Browning, 'I was attending closely, and I remarked none.’

To Doctor (now Sir William) Russell (who was in South America).

Oxford, May 12, 1889.

' Where is Iquique? I know if I wrote to you Ubique it would find you, bu where is Iquique? Meanwhile let me congratulate you on your wanderings. I thought of you on the Pyramids, or among the Dervishes, and now, like the seal in the Zoological Gardens, you turn up in the Straits of Magellan. It is too late to ask you to bring a baby from Tierra del Fuego home with you. I have been writing a good deal about these Fuegians lately. Darwin said they were like the Devils in the Freischutz. I have now before me a Dictionary of their language containing more than 30,000 words, and remember Shakespeare uses no more than 15,000 words. Then what are these Devils talking about with double that number? I hope you are not taking up your permanent abode among those eloquent savages! If you come home before the Parnell Commission is over, you will find plenty of eloquent savages in London. And what has become of the old Irish fun? not a trace of it during all these dreary weeks. Yes, one little scrap. Henry George lecturing in Ireland, telling them the earth was created for all men, that Adam never paid rent for his acres in Paradise. Shrill voice from a corner of the room, Sure, but wasn’t he evicted then?” We shall stay here till the end of August, and then go to Sweden. I have just finished printing my Gifford Lectures on Natural Religion — Religion au naturel [Google translate: Natural religion], they call it — 600 pages, and a volume of my new edition of the Veda — remember that in 1848 — 1,000 pages quarto. Pity the sorrows of a poor scholar! Hard labour for life, that seems to be my sentence.’

In June, the engagement of his only surviving daughter to T. C. Colyer-Fergusson, of Ightham Mote, was a source of great happiness to Max Muller. The early part of Long Vacation was spent at Oxford, varied by short visits to London, Claremont, Highclere, and other places.

To The Princess Mother of Wied.

Translation. Norham Gardens, Oxford, July 30, 1889.

‘Your Highness, — I have just received through Sir Robert Collins your kind invitation to Segenhaus. I cannot think how it happens that either my letters do not reach Herr von Roggenbach, or else he does not answer them. I asked him whether I might perhaps see your Highness at Neuwied about the middle of August, and I begged him to wire to me as soon as possible. Not having received any answer, my wife and I made other plans. But I return to my long-cherished wish. Should my wife and I be able to see your Highness at Segenhaus about the middle of August? also Herr von Roggenbach, and perhaps the Prince and Princess, and possibly even the Queen of Roumania? That would be quite delightful, only might I hear as soon as possible, so as to fix our plans accordingly? We are bound to arrive at Malmo on September 1, in time for the Oriental Congress at Stockholm. And before that date I am due at Berlin and at Dessau. My daughter goes to Scotland to her future parents-in-law, Sir James and Lady Fergusson; my son goes to Schwalbach, after his examination work; so we two old people are alone again, and intend going on a wedding-tour as we did thirty years ago!

‘A line or a telegram would fix our plans definitely.’

At the Summer Meeting this year of the University Extension Students, which was the second held in Oxford, Max Muller delivered three lectures in the Sheldonian Theatre on ‘Language.’ These were published the next year in a small volume, and were republished in America in 1891, with a supplement, ‘My Predecessors,' which had appeared in the Contemporary in 1888.

To The Duke of Argyll.

Oxford, August 9, 1889.

'Every creative act in language was performed by one individual, and, if passively—I mean, driven by outside influences — yet consciously. The unconscious and almost irrational element in the growth of language is due to the acceptance or non-acceptance of individual creations by the majority. The play of this action and reaction does not seem reducible to any rule. By slowly elaborating the rules of language or grammar, the speakers elaborate or bring out the universal law’s of thought, and these rule in the realm of thought, just as usages that have been found useful become the laws of a political commonwealth.’

The middle of August Max Muller and his wife left for Sweden, for the eighth Oriental Congress. They spent three days with the Princess Mother of Wied at Monrepos, and went on to Homburg to see the Empress Frederick, and then by Dresden to Dessau, where a pleasant week was spent with the few left of the large family circle whom they had visited there on their honeymoon thirty years before! From Dessau they travelled by Berlin, where Max Muller saw his old friend von Schlotzer for the last time, to Stralsund, one of the most interesting, though to English people least known, of the Baltic towns, with its fine red-brick buildings.

The next day, after a good passage, the travellers reached Malmo in Sweden, where they landed with many other members  of the Congress, amidst enthusiastic crowds. Stockholm was reached next morning. The King opened the Congress in person, and welcomed the members in French, and in the evening he received the whole Congress at Drottningholm, his palace up the Malar. On the return, the river was illuminated for miles. One day was given to Old Upsala, where the University students welcomed the guests, and where Max Muller, standing on the ‘Graves of the Gods,' three huge tumuli, gave the students a stirring address. Each morning was spent in the work of the Congress, Max Muller being first President of the Aryan Section. In common with the other King’s guests, twelve representatives from twelve different countries, he dined one night with the King, and received from him the Order of the Polar Star, first class, with star. Max Muller himself read a paper at the last working sitting, when he presented the Sacred Books of the East to the King as Protector of the eighth Congress. The King closed the first part of the meeting held at Stockholm in a Latin speech, which excited the greatest admiration. The Congress then moved on to Christiania. The whole meeting had been a continued triumph for Max Muller, and a revelation to him of how extensively his books had been read and appreciated. At the stations where the train stopped, people ran along the line, shouting his name, and at Drammen an old clergyman, when he saw him, grasped his hand, saying, ‘I have driven in thirty miles just to see you, and tell you all I owe to your books.’ Some of the other eminent men who were present could hardly conceal their feelings of jealousy, while the recipient of all this honour, though deeply gratified by the real affection shown for him, remained simple and unaffected throughout, and it required the watchful efforts of many of the members to induce him to show himself at the carriage windows to his ardent admirers. On leaving Christiania the great Falls of Trollhattan were visited on the way to Gothenburg, where the final banquet was held, and the members of the Congress separated. The Max Mullers returned by Copenhagen, Bremen, and Flushing.

In spite of the brilliant festivities and the many apparent hindrances to business, Max Muller always maintained that a firmer foundation had been laid at this Congress for future work than at any former Meeting.

One amusing incident touching Max Muller only came to light a year or two later. At the final banquet at Stockholm a menu was prepared in which all the dishes were described in different oriental languages by the learned members of the Congress. To Max Muller was assigned the task of describing salmon (Lax) in Vedic Sanskrit. About a year later a paragraph appeared in a Lahore paper, as follows: --

'Professor Max Muller, who is looked upon as a great Sanskrit scholar by some of our fellow countrymen, and as one who has great respect for the ancient literature of this country, has, it appears. been making fun of the Vedas for the delectation of his friends. He has composed what is termed the Matsya Sukta, consisting of six Mantras in praise and honour of Laksha, a species of fish. We will give here a translation of it: "( 1) O friends, sing the praises of this wonderful fish, whose name is Laksha, and which is the beloved of the people. (2) When, after having been fed in the sea, and looked after and protected in the rivers, it became hale and strong, it came to us as a guest. (3) May this Laksha, whose praises the poets of this age should sing, as they have been sung by those of old, bring unto us the goddess Lakshami. (4) Come and look at it, how red its flesh is! How pretty it looks, how like silver it shines! (5 and 6) Broth, prepared from its flesh, is palatable, and worthy of kings, and hence it is that we long for it in this assembly. This beloved fish, which is so pretty that we cannot be satiated by looking at it, is worthy the table of kings." These are the sublime sentiments embodied in the Professor's Sukta! But what, we may ask, can the Professor's object be in composing it? Why, merely to express his contempt of the Vedic teaching. Will this open the eyes of those who are such admirers of the Professor, and who regard him as a great admirer of our past?'

Max Muller's attention was drawn to this paragraph by a Hindu admirer, who took the whole thing as seriously as did the writer in the paper.

January, 1891.

'Dear Sir, -- An article has appeared in an Urdu paper, in which after saying that interested parties have been interpolating the Hindu Shastras, the writer accuses you of the same thing, i.e. that you have interpolated certain Mantras in the Vedas. Now to us it seems a clear misrepresentation and falsehood, and as this article has been copied by other papers, would you kindly give me the true facts of the case?

'Yours truly,

'S. N. Agnihotris,

'Minister Diva Somaj.'

To this Max Muller answered: --

OXFORD, February 7, 1891.

'Dear Sir -- I am much obliged to you for sending me the extracts from the Arya Gazette. They are very amusing, but they can hardly have been intended as serious.'

Max Muller then describes the banquet at Stockholm, and how he came to write in praise of the salmon (lax in Swedish).

'I confess I was afraid that I might have used grammatical forms not entirely Vedic, or made a mistake in the Vedic, but I did not expect that I should have been accused of an attempt at forging a Vedic Hymn!'

This autumn Max received a letter from a clergyman in Boston, America, asking him whether the word Christos did not mean a quality rather than a person, whether it was not a characteristic passing gradually into a name, and whether the word had not been used among the Greeks before the birth of Jesus. The writer adds: --

'I owe more to you than to any other man for establishing me in the sympathies of religion; and helping me to appreciate the breadth of the Christian instructions. I find great help in all your works, and many times have felt a strong impulse to write and tell you of the great services you have rendered. Let me thank you again for what your work has been to me.'

Unfortunately no answer was sent to the above, as the writer contemplated a visit to England, and it was thought that the subject was too vast for a letter. In sending this information to the Editor, Mr. Rexford says:--

'I feel more deeply indebted to Max Muller than to any one man for my understanding of religion. He made it sacred by declaring it a universal factum for man, instead of making it artificial by declaring it local and special. More and more I think all the world appreciates the colossal task which he accomplished. It seems a misfortune that he should have been called away from so great a work, but he has taught us all to be submissive.'

To Sir Robert Collins.

Oxford, October 18.

'I write to ask you for some advice. When I was at Stockholm the King gave me with his own hand the Polar Star, first class, with star, and expressed a hope that the Queen would allow me to wear it. What ought I to do? I want on no account to ask anything that the Queen would have to refuse, and I know, of course, that in certain official quarters no opportunity would be missed to annoy or injure me. The King told me that the star which he gave me was the highest distinction which could be given in Sweden to men of science. We had a splendid meeting. The King was perfectly charming, and when at last he addressed us all in a Latin speech without any notes, that lasted nearly a quarter of an hour, the Professors were in raptures. He is a very remarkable man, and yet how little the world knows of him!'

The Duchess of Albany herself brought her Uncle, the King's, wish before the Queen, who at once gave her gracious permission to wear the Polar Star at Court. Only a few months before Max Muller's death, the King of Sweden sent him the Grand Cross of the Order. Several friends were by chance at his house, when the Secretary of Legation arrived from London with the decoration, and will remember Max Muller’s pleasure at this wholly unexpected honour, and the sad feeling of those present that, shattered as his health was already, there was little hope it could ever be worn. Max Muller was right in his fears expressed to Sir Robert Collins. Red-tape tried to interfere, saying that a British subject ought to have no foreign Order. Her Majesty remembered that, when a few years previously she had wished to bestow an English Order on Max Muller, the objection was made that he was a foreigner. The present cabal was therefore stopped by the command: 'Max Muller may certainly accept the Order, for, though naturalized, he is still a German.' In sending his ‘most humble and sincere thanks for this new mark of Her Majesty's royal favour,' through Sir Henry Ponsonby, Max Muller adds, 'which I appreciate all the more as being, though not by birth, yet by choice, one of Her Majesty's most loyal and devoted subjects.’

A friend, in writing to congratulate him on the distinction, says: ‘Every fresh honour paid you causes me to reflect afresh on what I would fain forget, the remissness of our own Government in not recognizing your claims.’

During this autumn the criticisms on Max Muller’s first Gifford Lectures on Natural Religion began to appear. One friend, to whom he had sent his book, writes: --

‘I like the book greatly, and I am glad that you have said what you do. The time had come for saying it, and some of us had kept silence too long. You will of course be attacked, but the time will very soon come when you will be recognized as having done a real service to religion.’

His definition of Religion, as consisting ‘in the perception of the infinite under such manifestations as are able to influence the moral character of man,’ was questioned and objected to in many quarters. ‘This first course,' says Max Muller, ‘was purely introductory. It contained an examination of the various definitions of natural religion, and a statement of the objects which it may hope to achieve.’ Whilst one critic declared that ‘it is by these lectures the author will be longest remembered; they cover the whole field of study with which his name is associated, and they present his conclusions and opinions in their matured form,' another summed up his criticism with the assertion that ‘the learned Professor found something good in every religion, except in Christianity.'

But neither praise nor blame moved him, and he was strengthened by the conviction that he had done his best in the cause of truth.

Max Muller had postponed his second Gifford Lectures till February, 1890, and the work of this autumn Term was devoted to finishing them. Being his daughter's last Term in her old home, it was also one of constant social intercourse and gaiety, and many farewell visits too were paid to old friends and relatives, and the Lectures progressed but slowly.
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Re: The Life and Letters of The Right Hon. Friedrich Max Mul

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School of Modern Oriental Studies. Daughter’s wedding, Second Gifford Lectures. Malabari and infant marriages. Deal. Queen of Roumania. Birth of first grandchild. Third Gifford Lectures. Attacks on lectures. Christening of grandson. Dr. Leitner's Oriental Congress. Visit of Prince of Naples. British Association at Cardiff. Wildbad. Unveiling of monument to Wilhelm Muller. Science of Language rewritten. Resignation of Dean Liddell.

The first work of this year was connected with the establishment of an Institute, which appealed peculiarly to Max Muller, as filling a gap in our system of education which had weighed heavily on him for more than thirty years. This was the establishment by the Imperial Institute, in connexion with University College and King’s Collie, London, of a School of Modern Oriental Studies. Max Muller was asked to give the Inaugural Address, at the Royal Institution, on January 14. The Prince of Wales, our King, as President of the Imperial Institute, was in the chair. In his address. Max Muller adverted to the efforts he had made more than thirty years previously, at the time of the Crimean War, and then again after the Indian Mutiny, to call attention to this great need in English education; but he had spoken then to deaf ears, notwithstanding the interest which it was known the Prince Consort took in the subject. He acknowledged that the schools and Universities had since then done their best, but entirely without support or aid from Government. Yet, as the speaker said, when Imperial interests are at stake, the country has a right to expect Imperial, that is, concentrated, action, such action as has been taken in Russia, France, Austria, and Germany. The night before Max Muller had written to Sir Frederick Abel, the Chairman of the Committee of Management of the Oriental School: --

To Sir F. Abel.

January 13, 1890.

‘I hope a beginning has been made. It seems to me absolutely necessary that the sinews of war should be supplied by the Government. If it declines, then nothing remains but to go begging in the City, in Manchester, Birmingham, &c.'

In his speech Max Muller mentioned the number of letters he received from manufacturers and others, asking him to translate advertisements or notices in Oriental papers; and he hoped in future the new School of Oriental Studies would be able to supply such information to every merchant in the British Isles. He then dwelt more particularly on the great benefit it would be to India, if not only officers and civil servants had every facility for acquiring the vernaculars, but merchants, clerks, and employes in general; how the task of government and life in India would be simplified if the governing race were able, by knowledge of their languages, to enter more readily into the thoughts, lives, and aspirations of those they governed. The Prince of Wales, in thanking Max Muller for his ‘interesting and eloquent speech,' spoke of him as ‘one whom, ever since my undergraduate days at Oxford, I have had the advantage and privilege of knowing.’

Max Muller’s speech was keenly appreciated in India, and reviewed in many Indian papers.

The newspapers took up the subject warmly, and the great daily papers, not only in London, but in the provinces, emphasized the importance of the School for practical purposes, and urged the need of Government support; yet, but a few days later, Max Muller heard from the Chairman of the Committee of Management that there was little prospect of receiving any assistance from Government; and thus this subject, of such vital importance to the country, notwithstanding the efforts and interest of the Prince of Wales, was again left to private enterprise.

The Government has never contributed in any way towards the maintenance of the School of Modern Oriental Studies, established by the Imperial Institute authorities. When the School had been organized by the joint action of the Institute, King’s College, and University College, and placed under the direction of a committee representing each institution, application was made to the Foreign Office and the War Office to obtain an official recognition of the School, by including in the circulars issued to candidates for Government appointments in Oriental countries the languages taught at it, as optional subjects for the first examinations for such appointments; and, in making this application, it was especially stated that no pecuniary assistance was at that time desired. But this application, although repeated and supported by eminent authorities, was not entertained, and the School has simply continued to this day a struggling existence, supported only by the reputations of the two Colleges, and by a fund furnished by the daughters of the late Colonel Ouseley for the establishment of a few scholarships in Oriental languages.

Max Muller’s youngest and only surviving daughter was married on January 30 in Christ Church Cathedral to Thomas Colyer Colyer-Fergusson, of Ightham Mote, Kent. Her happy marriage, his son-in-law’s affection, and constant visits to their beautiful old home, were important factors in the happiness of his later years.

As soon as the wedding was over, Max Muller and his wife went to Glasgow, for the second course of Gifford Lectures, on Physical Religion. If the six weeks of their stay in Glasgow were not so entirely filled by social engagements as the first in 1888, they were varied by visits to Thornliebank, Mr. Crum’s; Largs, Sir W. Thomson’s place on the coast; and to friends at St. Andrews and Edinburgh, besides pleasant day visits to places immediately round Glasgow.

The lectures were again very well attended, even though the audiences were not quite as large as at the first course. This second course was intended to show how different nations had arrived at a belief in many gods in nature, and at last in One God, above all gods; how, in fact, they had conceived and named what Max Muller called the infinite in nature, or that which underlies all that is finite and phenomenal in our experience. Physical religion is the earliest form of human faith, and is based on the phenomena of nature, through which man in his earlier stages of thought endeavoured to account for what lay behind the veil of nature, and created in his own mind the gods of the sky, the fire, and the storm, which concepts, in the development of ages, culminated in our belief in God, the Father. Although traces of physical religion may be found everywhere and among all races, Max Muller limited his study of its origin and growth to a single country at first, choosing India for the reason that in no other country is physical religion in its simplest form so completely developed as there. Towards the end of the spring, he was elected for a further two years.

Whilst at Glasgow, Max Muller, after a lapse of several years, heard again from his friend Mr. Mozoomdar, who was discouraged in his work by the divisions in the Brahma Somaj since the death of Keshub Chunder Sen. He writes: —

'Much of Keshub's outward work was premature. It will have to be re-embodied and done again. Some one else will have to do it. For myself, it is enough if I can keep the great ideals untainted, and stand firm on the old ground, in spite of the influences that tend to drag us downwards. Perhaps you in Europe, where centres of thought are easily formed, and social sympathies soon organized, cannot conceive the absolute desertion that overtakes truth in the far East.'

The Library at Oxford, 17 Norham Gardens

To B. M. Malabari, Esq.

March 12.

'Your suggestion of a journey to India has gratified me very much, but I have come to the conclusion that at my time of life, and with so much important work still to finish, I must not think of it. It is a great self-denial, doubly difficult, after what you told me, that some of my Indian friends would have been willing to defray my expenses. There would have been no necessity for that, still that such an idea should have been entertained was a great pleasure to me. You are perhaps not aware of the intrigues which some so-called Sanskrit scholars and their friends, old members of the Indian Civil Service, have for years been carrying on against me, as a defender of the Indian character. However, old as I am, I never believe in the success of wickedness; and hitherto it is curious how my enemies have always been, against their will, my greatest benefactors.

'I feel sure you will find the same in your battles for what you consider right. We may be all of us mistaken in what we consider right, but so long as we believe it right, we must fight for it. I have never doubted that early marriage is the greatest impediment in the natural development of a woman's character, and I am equally certain that your stunted wives and mothers are the chief cause of the slow, the very slow social progress in India. You have made rapid progress in everything else, but you do not know yet what light an educated, healthy, and thoughtful wife can spread over every home, whether rich or poor. You deprive your children of the happiest time of their lives, their independent youth, or, at all events, you shorten that period, the happiest in an English girl's life, without any rhyme or reason. I know, of course, all your difficulties, and I never expected you would be able to grapple with some of them so well as you have done. You suffer from your mediaeval traditions, just as we did in Europe. Go back beyond your Middle Ages, go back to your really ancient literature, and you will find there no mothers of twelve years of age, but strong, healthy, educated women, who could even be trusted to choose their husbands. I have nothing to say on the physiological side of the question; but from a psychological point of view, marriage at ten, at twelve, even at fifteen, seems to me the surest means to stunt the natural growth of the mind in its various phases. The law should prevent all that is really noxious to physical health; no individual effort on the part of men of light and leading in India can effect a change in the long-established custom.

‘I quite agree with what you say about Ramabai. There you see what an Indian woman can be. Most Indian women can talk of nothing but their trinkets, their dresses and their family affairs. With Ramabai you can talk about everything. And what is more important still, you can perfectly trust her — and what a blessing that is! I knew her becoming a Christian would deprive her of many means of usefulness. I quite agreed with her, when she told me “a good Brahmani can be a good Christian.” But now that she has become a Christian — and I could quite understand her motives — she will have to prove that "a good Christian can be a good Brahman!”; and you ought all to help her in her work. If you see her, please tell her we often speak of her, and wish her all success.

'I am very busy, as usual. I have just finished the printing of the first volume of the new edition of the Rig-veda and Sayana. I am printing my Lectures on Natural Religion, delivered at Glasgow, and a new edition of my Lectures on Language, to say nothing of smaller matters. It is such a pity that one has to do so much mechanical work, which any young man might do quite as well; and there is little time left to do what one can do best Life in England is so expensive — unnecessarily so. You are much more independent in that respect in India. Still, as long as I can work, I do not complain, and I have through life always been able to make as much as I wanted, and a little more.

'I hope you are in good health and spirits, and that the work in which you have done so much is advancing steadily. Trees do not grow to their full height in a few years. If only they grow, that is enough, even though they who planted and watered them are forgotten, and receive small thanks. Work done is the true happiness of life, and you must feel that you have done some good work.'

To The Same.

Oxford, March 29, 1890.

‘Let me thank you, first of all, for your unflagging interest in the translation of my Hibbert Lectures. I hope, like seed scattered broad- cast over a field, a grain here and there will bear fruit. We can do little more than to sow. You yourself have done that all your life, and you must know how often some of our best intentions lead to nothing, while others succeed beyond our expectations. I am glad to hear that you are going to allow yourself some rest, and pay us a visit in England. Be sure of a very hearty welcome at my house, whenever you come to Oxford. When you told me that some of your countrymen wished to invite me to India, I was very much pleased. You know how angry the Anglo-Indians are with me for having spoken the truth about India and the Indians. An expression of sympathy therefore from India will show them that, after all, I am not so ignorant of “What India can teach us," as they wish the public in England to believe, and that I have friends in India, though I have never been there in the body.

‘I have just received the number of the Indian Spectator, containing a review of my Natural Religion. I was very much pleased, and have to thank the writer, whoever he is.'

To His Son.

Oxford, March 27.

‘I do not believe that there has been much of a quarrel between the Emperor and Bismarck. Bismarck is tired; he knew that the Emperor was not in full sympathy with him, and he thought the present moment the most opportune for effecting a transition that otherwise might take place under less favourable circumstances. There have, always been two natures in Bismarck— littlenesses on the surface, and great principles at the bottom. No doubt, the littlenesses often predominated, but he was seldom carried away by them. However, we shall see. There will be squabbles in the next Chamber, and the Centre will have a good time of it.'

The following letter, which belongs to this date, shows the feeling for Max Muller in Sweden: —

Stockholm, April 4, 1890.

‘Honoured Sir, — Count Landberg has asked me to send you a curious article which appeared in the Vossische Zetung. I am glad indeed of the opportunity to tell you at last, what I longed to tell you months ago. In your book, The Science of Thought, you develop in your well-known masterly manner the close connexion which exists between word and thought. All who read your fascinating statements, so rich in original ideas, cannot but feel deeply grateful to you. How much more he who has had the honour of receiving the book from the author, from Max Muller himself!

‘However, I say much too little when I mention that I count my gratitude by months. Thirty years ago, when I was still a mere boy, I devoured with delight your Lectures, and since then my gratitude has increased every year. You have taught me Sanskrit grammar; guided by your hand, I have gone through the Hitopadesa and Meghaduta; it is also you who have introduced me to the Rig-veda. Your essays, your religious-historical lectures have fascinated me as they have fascinated all your readers. And now I have been allowed to see and hear you personally! I shall hast of this for all future time. You can imagine how glad we all are to see, from your wife's interesting description of the Congress, that you were both pleased with it, as well as with Scandinavia in general. That you were yourself the most prominent person of the Congress, and that therefore it was chiefly due to you that it received so much attention here, I need hardly mention; this cannot have escaped you. You are indeed not only the Teacher of the Learned, but — what is of far greater importance for humanity — you are the Teacher of the Cultured.

‘In deepest reverence,

‘Your faithful disciple ‘E. Tegues.’

To His Son-in-law, Thomas C. Colyer-Fergusson.

Oxford, April 7, 1890.

‘My dear Tom, — I am so glad to hear to-day from B. that in about a fortnight we shall see you again, B. as a demure matron, you as burdened with all the cares and responsibilities of a married man. How you must have enjoyed your time in Italy! I can quite understand your not liking Rome. I was never well there, I don’t know why, and as soon as I reached Perugia I was a different being. However, you will enjoy Venice, and I should not be surprised to hear that you could not tear yourself away; just now in spring it must be perfect. We enjoyed our time at Glasgow, but it was hard work both socially and intellectually. They have not re-elected me, and I am not sorry for it. I have plenty of work which I ought to finish. The Scotch papers still go on discussing my lectures. The Glasgow Herald had no less than eight letters in one number. Some people would like to burn me, but there seems a strong majority on my side, and there is a wonderful amount of good sense among the people in Scotland.

‘Yours always affectionately,

‘F. Max Muller.’

Soon after Max Muller's return to Oxford he received a Sanskrit translation of the English inscription for the statue of the Prince Consort, to be erected in Windsor Park as part of the Women’s Jubilee Offering to the Queen. The inscriptions on the pediment of the statue were to be in English, Latin, Gaelic, and Sanskrit. Max Muller was not at first consulted as to the Sanskrit translation, but the secretary, Lieut-Colonel Tully, who had some knowledge of Sanskrit, felt doubtful as to the rendering sent him, and asked Max Muller’s opinion. He at once found that the translation sent was absolutely useless, and concluded his careful analysis in these words: 'The rendering is a poor attempt, in my opinion, by some one with a limited knowledge of Sanskrit and English.’ It was curious that he should have so exactly divined the truth, the fact being that one of his opponents had put the matter into the hands of a half-educated native, resolved that Max Muller s name should not be associated with the great monument, a malicious trick that was frustrated by the secretary’s conscientious care. Max Muller sent a translation made by himself, which Professor Cowell of Cambridge pronounced to be ‘very good,’ and he afterwards sent it, with the one submitted to him, to Professor Bhandakar of Poona, one of the most learned of Indian Pundits, who wrote back by return that, among other gross errors, the word used by the first translator for ‘Consort’ was an absolutely inadmissible word. ‘You are certainly to be congratulated,’ Bhandakar wrote, ‘on having saved our august Queen from a standing insult.’ The secretary decided that Max Muller’s rendering was the only one of several sent in that could be used. Max Muller submitted his translation to various other scholars in Europe and India, who suggested a few trifling amendments, and it is his translation into Sanskrit that is on the metal plate which was affixed to the monument in 1895.

To Professor Victor Carus.

Translation. Oxford, April 11.

‘It was a great pleasure to see your well-known writing once more, and to learn that all goes as well with you as one dares to expect at our age. Here too all goes well, but our house has become very empty. Beatrice and her husband are in Venice — may they long enjoy their happy life! They have a house in London, and a lovely old place, Ightham Mote, in Kent. My boy has done with his examinations here, and is preparing for the Diplomatic Service — a precarious career, but what can one do? We, my wife and I, were in Glasgow again in the winter, where I had to deliver the Gifford Lectures. Now we are enjoying the quiet here, and I, the time for work. I have not seen Acland since his return from the Canary Islands.’

In April Mr. Malabari, of Bombay, visited England, hoping to stir up active interest on the questions of infant marriage and the status of Hindu widows. It was a great interest to Max Muller, who had in 1887 shown such concern in the case of Rukhmabai, and also exerted himself to aid Ramabai in her noble work for Hindu widows, to make the personal acquaintance of the energetic reformer, and a close friendship sprang up between the two men, which lasted till Max Muller’s death. Mr. Malabari paid his friend a visit at Oxford, and Max Muller gave him good counsel as to his further proceedings, and later in the summer attended a Drawing- room Meeting, to discuss some of the questions relative to the position of women in India. Princess Christian and the Duke of Connaught were present, and Lord Reay was in the chair. Max Muller spoke on the resolution 'that any legal obstacles that still stand in the way of the remarriage of widows should be removed.'

To His Son-in-law, T.C. Colyer-Fergusson.

Oxford, June 3, 1890.

‘My dear Tom, — M any thanks for your liberal contribution to my father’s-— your grandfather’s — monument. It would be very pleasant if we could all be there to see it unveiled. You would be very much interested and amused in the life of a small capital in Germany, and the country is beautiful. I am very tired. Love to B.

‘Ever yours affectionately,

'F. Max Muller.'

In the course of the summer, whilst staying with his daughter, Max Muller met his old friend ‘Billy' Russell, a meeting that called forth the following letter: —

From Dr. W. Russell.

Carlisle Mansions, 12.

'My dear Max Muller and Friend, — It was strange to find myself under your daughter's roof-tree, face to face with her father, and “ memory through the vale of years " recalling the eidola of two young fellows, with all the world before them, light hearts and empty purses! Well, I'm a scribbler still, a worker in the rubbish called daily literature — it should be spelt litter-a-shure — and the owner of a name to conjure with all over the world, where men know and think. Heaven help us both, Amen!'

To B. M. Malabari, Esq.

7, Norham Gardens, Oxford, 28, 1890.

‘My dear Friend, — I saw Princess Christian before I left London. She knew all about you, and is to receive you in a few days.  

'But now let me tell you frankly how matters stand. Lord Lansdowne has been written to about the enabling clause. You understand what I mean — a clause enabling a father to keep his daughter till the time has come for her to leave her father’s house. That clause will probably be carried by Lord Lansdowne in Council There ought to be no pressure brought to bear on him. He ought to be allowed to do it himself, spontaneously. Any public demonstration to bring this about would, under present circumstances, do harm. The other question, as to raising the age, is much more serious— is, in fact, a political question, that will have to be fought out openly in India. Whatever Princess Christian may feel on the subject, she could not possibly express an opinion on it in public, or in private, at present. She ought not to be asked to do so.

‘I think, therefore, that, however small the enabling clause may seem to be, we ought to be satisfied with getting that carried at present. When that is done, then the agitation ought to begin once more in India.'

To Professor Klaus Groth.

Oxford, 25, 1890.

'I thought you might be interested to hear how a thought—which years ago was raised for the first time by you — is now nearing its realization.

‘The monument to my father is to be unveiled next spring. We all hope to be in Dessau for that occasion — as many of us, that is to say, as have remained — my son, who is preparing for his examination, and my happily married daughter, my wife, and myself, aged sixty-seven!

‘I hope old age is not too heavy a burden on you, though the world has grown very lonely.’

It was a great pleasure to Max Muller to have a long visit from his daughter and her husband during the Long Vacation; and though he was busy writing his third series of Gifford Lectures for the coming year, and preparing the second volume for press, he was more inclined to take work easily, and joined in many of the water and other excursions taken in company with the Fear ns, a very agreeable American family, spending the summer in Oxford. Mr. Fearn had been American Minister at Athens and Bucharest.

At the third Summer Meeting of the University Extension Students this year, Max Muller delivered the Inaugural Address, a ‘Lecture in defence of Lectures,' which was afterwards published in the first volume of the new edition of Chips.

In August he went with his daughter to Deal, where he particularly enjoyed the intercourse with Lord Granville at Walmer, and Lord Herschell at Deal, as well as exploring Sandwich, Minster, and many interesting places round. He could always throw himself with zest into these excursions, when not oppressed with too much work. In September the whole party were again settled in Oxford. So hard had Max Muller worked, with his admirable secretary, Dr. Winternitz, at the new edition of the Rig-veda, that the first and second volumes were brought out early in October.

The Queen of Roumania had spent the late summer in Wales and Scotland, and had hoped to stay a few days in Oxford; but finding that was impossible, Her Majesty summoned the Max Mullers to London, to spend the last days of her time in England with her. Together they visited the studios of Mr. Watts and Mr. Alma Tadema, and saw the Bride of Lammermoor acted at the Lyceum. But the thing that most astonished Max Muller, well as he knew the Queen’s versatility of talent, was her reading aloud in English a tragedy, Meister Manole, which she had written in German. The Queen was very anxious to have this play acted, and invited Sir Henry Irving and Miss Terry and other friends to hear it. About twenty people were assembled, when it appeared that neither Sir Henry Irving nor Miss Terry could follow German read aloud. ‘Then I must read it in English,’ said the Queen, adding to Max Muller, ‘Sit by me, and help me.’ For two hours the Queen translated aloud, without hesitating for a word. Her reading was acting, and she kept her hearers spellbound. On finishing the tragedy, the Queen turned anxiously to the great actor: ‘ Well, what do you think?’ ‘Madam,’ was the reply, ‘such a play requires an Ober-Ammergau audience’; exactly expressing the feelings of all present.

From London the Max Mullers paid a visit to their daughter in her beautiful old home, Ightham Mote, in Kent, the first of many happy days to be spent there.

To Mrs. Sellar (after the death of Professor Sellar).

Ightham Mote, October 24, 1890.

'Many times I have thought of writing to you, but what is one to say! Whenever I thought of you till now, all seemed bright and cheerful with you, and now all is changed. We reckon too little with death, and then when it comes it overwhelms us. We know all the time that our friends must go, and that we must go, but we shut our eyes and enjoy their love and friendship as if life could never end. We should say good-bye to each other every evening, — perhaps the last good-bye would find us then less unprepared.

‘Your dear husband’s life has been a long one, well filled, and full of much happiness. Who knows but that the few remaining years on which he might have reckoned, would have been years of suffering to him, and to you? One or two more stations, and then we also have come to the end of our journey. Nearly all our cheerful companions are gone, it is difficult to make new friendships, and I assure you, those who have left us are nearer to us, and we nearer to them, than those who are still sitting by our side. We have often been truly happy together: believe me, I feel now truly unhappy with you.’

On Christmas Day, Max Muller s old friend Dr. Thomson, Archbishop of York, passed away. He was associated with some of the brightest and also the saddest days of Max Muller is early life in Oxford, and but two years before, the friends renewed their youth in much pleasant intercourse when Max Muller stayed at Bishopthorpe.

Christmas was spent by Max Muller at Oxford alone with his son; his wife being with her daughter. On December 30 his first grandchild, a boy, was born.

To His Wife.

7, Norham Gardens, December 30, 1890.

‘You don't know how entirely upset I have been all day: it seemed such a sudden joy, and the suspense and tension had been so long. I quite collapsed with joy. I hope all will go well I thought I should never see my children's children, and now even that blessing has been granted me! I am tired out.’

Oxford, December 31, 1890.

'My dear little Grandson, — was delighted with your first letter, and I hope I shall receive a great many more, for though I have not seen you yet, I think of you a great deal, and always want to know how you are, and how your dear Mama is, I am glad you like your Grandmama; I like her too, and I know she will be very kind to you, and she will not mind your crying. I don't wonder at your crying; it is a hard world you enter, as you will find out by-and-by. Many people would cry all their lives, if they were not ashamed of it. Besides, you have as yet nothing else to do, and so you are crying brightly, because you have nothing else to do,” isn’t that it? Your grandfather is already very proud of you, and perhaps he may live long enough to be really proud of you. Anyhow he hopes you will be a pride to your father and mother; you cannot be anything better. And now when you have cried yourself out, try to sleep, and forget the beginning troubles of your life. Your grandfather is trying to do the same, but he does not always succeed.

‘Your loving Grandfather,

‘F. Max Muller.'

Early in January, Max Muller started for Glasgow, for his third course of Gifford Lectures, taking London on his way, that he might see his first grandchild. His wife joined him in Glasgow later in the month. This third course, on ‘Anthropological Religion,' was intended to show how different nations arrived at a belief in a soul. The first two courses had roused some animosity among the narrower-minded men in Scotland, and this year a violent attack was made on Max Muller’s lectures at a meeting of the Established Presbytery of Glasgow, where Mr. Thomson, Minister of Ladywell, moved the motion: —

‘Inasmuch as the teaching of Professor Max Muller, the Gifford Lecturer in the University of Glasgow, is subversive of the Christian faith, and fitted to spread pantheistic and infidel views amongst the students and others; the Presbytery appoint a committee to examine the views of Professor Max Muller as set forth in his lectures, and to ascertain the Senate’s power in relation to the acceptance of the Gifford bequest and the appointment of a lecturer.’

As an amendment Dr. Watt moved: —

‘That the Presbytery express profound regret that teaching of an unsettling character should be given apparently under the sanction of the Senatus of the University, but deem it inexpedient to take any action in the matter.’

Dr. Watt — after saying that it was impossible that any fault could have been found with the first appointment, Professor Max Muller being a man of very great eminence, not only in philology, but also in all branches of modern human learning; and that if fault could have been found with the appointment, voice would have been given to it long before the Professor began his lectures — admitted that possibly it had been a mistake to elect him a second time. Yet, had the Senate said, ‘We will not reappoint you,' and if the reason for doing so had been stated, the outcry against them, on the plea that they were repressing freedom of thought, would have been quite as strong as the outcry for giving too much licence.

Dr. Robertson moved, as a further amendment: —

‘The Presbytery being advised that the Gifford Lectureship at present held by Professor Max Muller, was founded by Lord Gifford in order that the origin of religions might be discussed on a scientific basis, declare that it is without their province to express an opinion on the wisdom of the founder in constituting the trust, and on the expediency of the University in accepting the trust.'

After further discussion, the clerk having proposed that a vote be taken, a disgraceful scene followed, Mr. Thomson exclaiming, ‘Aye, let us see who is for, and who is against, Christ'; an expression he was requested to withdraw. Dr. Robertson’s amendment was carried by seventeen votes to five, when Mr. Thomson again exclaimed, 'Only five for Christ,’ an expression he had to withdraw. One of the Glasgow papers, commenting on the whole meeting, said: —

‘It may be taken as certain that the assertions made to the effect that Mr. Max Muller is a foe to religion in general and to Christianity in particular are altogether unwarranted, and it is conceivable that a serious question may arise as to how far a member of a Presbytery is shielded by his official position from the consequences that sometimes attach to rash statements of this character.’

An even stronger attack on the lectures was made by Monsignor Munro in St. Andrew’s (R.C.) Cathedral His text was from St Matthew’s account of the betrayal of Christ by Judas.

‘He meant,' the preacher said, ‘to apply that terrible narrative to the subject of his lecture that evening. The Gifford Lectures delivered by Professor Max Muller were nothing less than a crusade against Divine revelation, against Jesus Christ, and against Christianity. The guilt of those who permitted that anti-Christian doctrine in a University founded to defend Christianity, was simply horrible. It was a strange thing that in a Christian University, public feeling should have tolerated the ostentatious publication of infidelity. The pantheism of the lectures made Divine revelation simply impossible; it reduced God to mere nature, and did away with the body and soul as we know them. It was strange that the Professor, who knew so much of other religions, should know so little of the religion which it was his object to overthrow. Judge what Christianity would be in this country in another generation, if teaching was to be tolerated like that of these blasphemous lectures. The lectures were the proclamation of atheism under the guise of pantheism. Professor Max Muller was incapable of a philosophical idea, and ignorant of the Christianity he sought to overthrow. His theory uprooted our idea of God, for it repudiated the idea of a personal God.'

To B. M. Malabari, Esq.

Glasgow, January 18.

‘I was delighted to hear that the first step has been taken. Whatever you may feel yourself, in the eyes of the world, and particularly in England, this will be a great triumph. It would be very bad policy to show ourselves discouraged. On the contrary, the victory is on our side. The principle has been admitted, and may now be acted on, that the limit of the age of consent has nothing to do with religion, but is a matter of public hygiene, for which the Government is responsible. As new light comes in, new measures will have to be taken. I congratulate you on what you have achieved so far, but I feel sure it would be the greatest mistake if you were to show yourself dejected or disheartened.

'Take care of your health—there is no medicine so good as good spirits, and there is still many a fight to fight.’

On Max Muller’s return south, he attended the christening of his little grandson at St. George’s, Hanover Square; Princess Christian standing sponsor to the child, whom she held at the font, giving him the names of Max Christian Hamilton. Max Muller’s old friend Dean Bradley performed the ceremony, and the little fellow was taken from the Dean by his great-great-grandmother, on his father’s side, who came to London for the occasion.

In contrast to the attacks made on him in Scotland, Max Muller received just about this time a letter from an almost unknown admirer, recalling a walk 'some few years before, which you permitted me to share with you; ... on that evening my inner self was fed with food that strengthened me, and made me so much the better man to face facts, and live in the Light which lighteth every man, and made me receptive to the incoming of that Life, which by His coming He brought us.’ [/quote]

To Archdeacon Wilson.

Oxford, March 22.

‘If you can find time, please read my last lecture, Gifford III, and if you would let me know what you think of it, I should feel grateful Yes! I know that one or two sentences contain what we had talked and written about at Maloja, happy Maloja! No, my faith in England is not shaken. We must not expect too much, we must not expect all strata of thought to become one. Here in Oxford, we shall never get rid of impenetrable Oxford clay, but there is a healthy layer of gravel on the top. I see you are fighting. I have had my fight at Glasgow, but the Professors, with few exceptions, have stood by me. No, I do not despair. In fact, I have no time for it.'

The following letters show how Max Muller was appealed to on every variety of subject: —

Oxford, March 13.

‘Dear Sir, — I cannot enter into details, but if you trust me, you may take it for granted that there is no reason for supposing that the English race represents the lost tribes of Israel.'

Oxford, February 19, 1896.

‘Dear Sir, — I doubt whether the number of Germans pronouncing German in the Hanoverian fashion is known; anyhow, I do not know it. There is no reason to suppose that the South German fashion of pronouncing German is due to the Jews.

'Yours truly,

'F. Max Muller.'

A good deal of Max Muller’s time was taken up this year, as in 1890, by the unfortunate determination of certain members of the eighth Oriental Congress, held at Stockholm in 1889, to upset the arrangements made by the committee of management at Christiania^ before the Congress separated. Some members of the Congress, notably Drs. Leitner and Oppert, had taken offence at the arrangements made in Sweden, and succeeded on their return to France and England in gathering round them a body of malcontents, who announced the ninth Congress for September, 1891. It had been proposed in Sweden that Max Muller should be President of the ninth Congress, probably to be held in London. Drs. Leitner and Oppert, both German Jews by birth, declared it was an insult to French scholars to ask them to attend a Congress under the Presidency of Max Muller, quite forgetting that Max Muller was a member of the French Institute and a naturalized Englishman, and that it had been said of him at a former Congress that he was 'Allemand par coeur, Francais par honneur, Anglais par demeure, [Google translate: German by heart, French by honor, English by residence]' also that Helmholtz had lately acted as president at some congress held in Paris, Attempts were made at a compromise, but Dr. Leitner would not agree, and declaring that the meeting at Christiania had departed from the statutes framed in Paris in 1873, as if, as years went on, no alteration was ever to be made in accordance with the demands of the times, he succeeded in gathering an assemblage together in London in September, which he called the ninth Oriental Congress. All German Orientalists held aloof, and Weber wrote a pamphlet against the whole proceeding. Leitner had none of the minutes and regulations of the committee of Christiania, and the beautiful horn presented to the Congress by the King of Sweden, to be held by the President of each Congress till the next meeting, was still in the hands of the Swedish President, and was only passed on the following year to Professor Max Muller. When it was found that Dr. Leitner was determined to carry out his schism, the committee formed at Christiania settled that the real ninth Congress should meet in 1892 in London, and take no further notice of Dr. Leitner. Oxford had been discussed as an alternative place of meeting. All this involved immense correspondence with Oriental scholars throughout Europe and America, and Max Muller often lamented the valuable time thus frittered away.

A new edition of the Three Lectures on Language was published this year in America, and it is to this that the following letters allude: —

To Professor Romanes.

Oxford, July 2.

‘Here is my defence. I hope you will accept it in the spirit in which it was written, and I do not give up all hope yet that we may come to agree in the end. I believe we both care far more for is right, than for who is right.'

Leave has been given to insert the answer: —

Oxford, July 3.

‘Dear Professor Max Muller, — Many thanks for your language both as regards the Lectures and the letter. It appears to me, after reading the former, that very little difference remains between us when once my “misapprehensions” have been subtracted. And my ‘‘defence" touching these must be that, as you observe, I am no “master” in philology, and therefore apt to fall into the misunderstandings of an amateur. At the same time, you will doubtless be the first to perceive that it would have been impossible for me to have even attempted a work on the evolution of human thought, without reading the "several books” on language to which you refer. And this much good, at least, may be said to have come from my attempt, that of enabling you to correct erroneous interpretations into which some other of your readers may likewise have fallen. Anyhow, in my eyes, the corrections which you have supplied serve only to enhance the high estimate which I have always held of the value of your work. Of course, I shall notice what you say, should there be a second edition of my book, or if any other suitable occasion should arise.’

To Professor Romanes.

Ightham Mote, July 6.

‘I must thank you for your letter. It is so painful when personal feelings are mixed up with scientific research. Facts and correct deductions from facts, are all we ought to care for; who discovered them and who made them is of very little consequence. Yet I know from experience that there are but few who would be so completely above all personal feelings as you have shown yourself to be. As you say, the points on which we differ are few and they seem very small yet I should like some day to reason out some of these questions with you. Of course, I feel the break in evolution between animal and man quite as much as you do. I do not want it or look for it. But I cannot get over this. What is impossible cannot be the same as what is possible. It seems to me we may say that it is impossible for any animal, except man, to attain to language, in its true sense of Logos. At least, it is as impossible as that the sun should rise in the west. It may, of course, but it has never done so. I admit in the abstract that an animal may begin to speak — we see ever so many attempts at communication among animals, and among children, long before the sunrise of language — but I take my stand on the fact that no animal has ever done so. And then I ask why? and I can only answer, because there is something in the human animal which is absent in the brute animal from beginning to end.'

It is a pity that literary differences are not always expressed in the courteous tone of these letters.

To Dr. Hosaus.

Ightham Mote, July 8.

'I am delighted to hear that no further difficulties stand in the way of the unveiling of the monument. I certainly hope, please God, to be present. ... I shall be delighted with any arrangement you make about the festivities. My own family is, as you know, greatly reduced in number, and even of my contemporaries but few are left.’

The Prince of Naples (the present King of Italy) visited Oxford this summer for a few hours, and, by desire of the Prince of Wales, Max Muller acted as his guide. The most important Colleges were visited, and finally All Souls, where the whole party partook of the famous and potent All Souls ale, and inscribed their names in the College visitors’ book and in Max Muller’s autograph book. The Prince was much amused with the constitution of All Souls, a College without students, and asked whether the monks of All Souls were married, and if their wives might live in College and dine in hall At the Bodleian, the Prince, who was a keen numismatist, begged to see the collection of coins. The Library had lately acquired some old Italian coins, which the Prince at once proceeded to arrange. He repeatedly expressed his delight with the beauty of Oxford, and showed great interest in everything.

The next event of this year was the Meeting of the British Association at Cardiff, which Max Muller attended, he and his wife being the guests of the Dean of Llandaff. Max Muller, as President of the Anthropological Section, gave an inaugural address on the ‘Classification of Mankind by Language or by Blood,’ which is published in Chips, Vol. I, new edition. He had taken no active part in any meeting of the British Association for forty-four years, since he, as a mere youth, read a paper on ‘The Relation of Bengali to the Aryan and Aboriginal Languages of India.’ He recalled that meeting and the belief of those days in Linguistic Ethnology, a science against which he protested even at the time, young as he was maintaining that there ought to be a complete separation between Philology and Physiology, as sciences, though he acknowledged that the old heresy of Linguistic Ethnology was not entirely extinct even at the present day.

Max Muller and his wife spent a month of quiet enjoyment after this at Wildbad, in the Black Forest From here he wrote to his old friend Professor Carus:

Wildbad, September 16.

My Dear Victor, — The monument to my father is to be unveiled on September 30. How delightful it would be if you could be present! I hope to be there with my son, daughter, and son-in-law. My grandson is unfortunately too young for travelling. Who knows if we may otherwise meet again in this life?’

At Wildbad they were joined by their son, and they went on together to Dessau, there meeting their daughter and her husband, who, like themselves, had come to attend the unveiling of the monument to Wilhelm Muller, which took place on September 30. The Duke and Duchess of Anhalt, and other members of the Ducal family, were present at the ceremony. In front of the veiled monument a covered stand was erected, occupied by the Ducal party, all the living connexions of Wilhelm Muller, and other invited guests; whilst Max Muller, his son and son-in-law, the deputations from various parts of Germany, the choir, and the speakers at the ceremony, were grouped on each side of the monument Some fine choruses were well rendered by the choir of the Gymnasium, with military accompaniment, some good speeches were made, and after the monument had been unveiled and handed over by the committee to the care of the town, Max Muller spoke, recalling all the work his father had carried out during his short life of thirty-three years. Then, as the sounds of the Anhalt hymn rose, the deputations, headed by Wilhelm Muller’s grandson and the husband of his granddaughter, and two old pupils of the poet, laid wreaths at the foot of the statue, and the interesting ceremony was over. It was followed by a banquet, presided over by Minister von Krosigk, where Max Muller had to respond to the health of himself and his family. Many old friends had come together from a distance, as much to meet Max Muller as to do honour to their popular poet, and many merry old recollections were revived, and old ties reknit [Google translate: sharks]

There was a gala representation of Iphigenia in Aulis that evening, at which the Duke and Duchess of Anhalt were present, when the Duke sent for Max Muller and presented him with the Anhalt Order of Albrecht the Bear, first class, with star, the oldest Order in Europe, even older than the Garter.

Soon after his return to England, Max Muller went to Reading to take part in a gathering of the Reading University Extension Association. After a warm eulogy on the system of University Extension Lectures, in which he had from the first been keenly interested, he told his hearers that in his late visit to Germany he had had to answer innumerable questions on the system, which was totally unknown there, and which, as a new departure from the old University lectures, was exciting great attention in Germany. He ended by a word of warning to those attending these lectures: —

‘They should not imagine that by attending lectures they have done their duty. Lectures are not meant to stuff and cram the mind. Lectures are meant to excite an appetite for knowledge, and to show how such knowledge may best be acquired. But the actual acquiring of knowledge, the masticating of facts and their healthy digestion, can only be done by each student for himself. There are cramming and stuffing lectures — we know them but too well. They take away all real appetite for knowledge; they produce chronic intellectual dyspepsia. I know from experience how much good a teacher may do by one lecture, aye, by a few words of warning and advice, and I welcome these University Extension lectures as a standing protest against that mere stuffing and cramming, which has wellnigh extinguished all true love of learning among our young men.’

This year Max Muller brought out the final edition of his lectures on language, which he called The Science of Language f founded on lectures delivered in 1861 and 1863. The book had been almost rewritten, and yet so much has been done in the study of philology since 1891, that the work is now looked on as antiquated. In reviewing it in 1891, the Academy says: —

‘We are glad to find that the new edition is not of such a character as to affect the essential identity of the book, which has attained something of the position of a classic. ... It has never been superseded as a preliminary survey of the whole subject. . . . The grace of style and felicity of illustration have not evaporated in the process of revision.'

To Lady Welby.

October 18, 1891.

‘I have to finish my fourth volume of Gifford Lectures for next January — it will be the last word I have to say, and it is not easy to find out how best to say it, and how to explain in English the unity of the Infinite in nature and the Infinite in man, the true meaning of the “I and My Father are one.” After that I shall say no more, for I am getting tired and should like to retire into the forest, if I only knew where to find it.' [/quote]

To Mrs. Thomson.

Oxford, November 14.

‘Like everybody else I have been laid up with a wretched cold, otherwise I should have answered your kind lines before. It is sad to think of all that was, and is no more, and yet there is something much more real in memory than one used to think. All is there but what our weak human senses require, and nothing is lost, nothing can be lost except what we knew would vanish one day, but what was the husk only, and not the kernel. I have learnt to live with those who went before us, and they seem more entirely our own than when they were with us in the body. And as long as we have duties to fulfil, so long as there are others who lean on us, and want us, life can be lived a few years longer, it can only be a few years now. . . .

‘Ever yours affectionately,

‘F. Max Muller.'

In November the Duchess of Albany visited Oxford, to show her two children the place where their father had spent so many happy years. They came to tea in Norham Gardens, and Max Muller, finding that the little Duke had not yet made acquaintance with the famous German child’s book Struwwelpeter, bought one the next day, and took it with him to the Bodleian Library, where he was engaged to meet the Duchess and show her some of the treasures. After a time, her Royal Highness missed her guide, and he was found in one of the reading recesses with the little Duke on his knee, carefully explaining Struwwelpeter to the small boy. It was a curious contrast, the old Professor, the little child, Struwwelpeter, amid all the treasures of the Bodleian.

It was at the end of this year that Dr. Liddell, Dean of Christ Church, resigned his Deanery, and he and his family left Oxford; a great loss socially to all Oxford, and especially to the Max Mullers and other families who had been among their more intimate friends. What the loss was to Max Muller he has shown in the article, ‘Dean Liddell, as I knew him,’ reprinted in the first series of Last Essays, From this time, he withdrew almost entirely from participation in University matters, with which he had never much concerned himself; but in those in which he took part, he missed the support and influence of the Dean, from whom he rarely, if ever, differed, and ere long he resigned his place as a Curator of the Bodleian, and, some few years later, as Delegate of the Press.

To W. Lilly, Esq.

December 17, 1891.

'I am deep in the Mystics just now: they are my premier amour [Google translate: first love], and I expect they will be my dernier amour [Google translate: last love]. They have been through life my protection against all troubles. I only wish people would not call them Mystics; they are as clear as daylight, clearer than the Scholastics with all their systematic arrangements. But will people in England listen to them? Will they not turn up their noses, like Mansell, &c,, and say that the Infinite is a negative concept only? . . . I must confess that social and political questions have almost ceased to interest me. I feel so helpless and hopeless before them. I admire those who try to purify the Thames, but I have no shoulders for that kind of work. My favourites of course are the German Mystics, particularly Meister Eckhart and Cardinal Cusanus. Even Thomas Aquinas is permeated by Mysticism — with him too the highest beatitude is the Visio Dei per consentiam [Google translate: God's vision through consent]; that goes beyond Dionysius, who denies the per essentiam, does he not? Still, he does not go as far as Eckhart, who is a real Vedantist, and knows the difference between Wesen and Sein.’

To Sir Henry Acland.

Oxford, December 21, 1891.

‘I have read your letter, and feel, like you, very sad to see Oxford falling away more and more from the ideal which men like Rolleston, Pattison, Stanley, Goldwin Smith, and Henry Smith placed before us. Oxford is becoming a machine, a most successful machine, for enabling a very large number of young men to pass their examinations. To do that under the present system of examinations, either with or without honours, young men have little or no time left for subjects which do not pay in the schools.

‘It was the object of Universities to widen and strengthen the minds of young men, before they entered into the narrower grooves of their professional work; now the narrowing and deadening process begins as soon as a boy leaves school. That is, no doubt, a great misfortune, a national misfortune; and its effects begin to be felt in different professions. The present system may produce very fine and sharp blades, it will no longer produce the powerful axe which is wanted to clear a way through the dark future before us. Still, nil desperandum [Google translate: do not despair].

'With best wishes for the New Year.'

The following alludes to Archdeacon Wilson's noble letter to the Times, December 15, appealing in the name of Christian liberty against the ‘Declaration on the truth of Holy Scripture,' sent to the Times a few days earlier, signed by thirty-eight clergy, advocating the most rigid belief in the verbal inspiration of the Bible: —

To Archdeacon Wilson.

Oxford, December 28 , 1891.

'I read your letter in the Times with very great pleasure. The original manifesto also gave me a better idea and greater hope of the Church of England, considering that thirty-eight only could be found to sign it. I have nothing more to say, beyond what you have said, and I feel so tired out by writing my final course of Gifford Lectures, that I really have no heart to do anything else. My third volume has been printed for some time, but it is not to be out before January 1, when I hope to send you a copy. I expect there will be a strong protest from some quarters, but I am quite prepared for it. I have had to read lately Thomas Aquinas, et hoc genus omne [Google translate: and all this kind], and am surprised at their liberality. They invariably place reason above faith, at least from a subjective point of view. However, my real heroes are what are called the German Mystics, Meister Eckhart, &c. There is nothing mystical in them. It is all as clear as daylight, and very true and beautiful.’
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