CHAPTER VIII
1852-1853Member of Bavarian Academy. Summer in Germany. The Butlers. Arrival and baptism of Dr. Aufrecht. Essay on Turanian Languages for Bunsen. Visit to Scotland. First meeting with future wife. Missionary Alphabet.On February 2, 1852, Max Muller writes to his mother that he has just had the most agreeable surprise, having been elected a member of the Royal Bavarian Academy at the same time as Bunsen and Macaulay. Max had only just completed his twenty-eighth year, and to be elected with two such confreres, men whose names had been before the world when he was a mere student, was no slight compliment. He writes to Dr. Pauli:—
Translation. Oxford, 1852.
'Dear Pauli,—The Diploma from Munich has arrived safely; as I knew nothing about it, I was very much surprised. It must have been Bunsen's recommendation: I should like to know this that I may thank him. The news of Eliot Warburton's death touched me deeply, as we had seen him so lately, and well and happy.
His lectures during the first two terms of the year were on the 'History of German Literature in the Seventeenth Century,' and were well attended. These early lectures and his influence over his audience were described many years later by one of his hearers:—
'There has seldom been any one less like the typical German workman than Professor Max Muller. He is a marvellous example of how a foreigner may use the English tongue with more fluency and elegance than even the ordinary cultivated native; and how a man trained in other than English conditions may be all the better qualified to stimulate and instruct the English mind when he speaks its own familiar language. It is now more than half a century since he began to act as a fertilizing agency in what was then the rather arid field of English scholarship. His quick and sensitive intellect, so easily touched, so rapidly assimilative, had been moved on the philological side by men like Burnouf, on the philosophical by Schelling, and on the religious by Bunsen. And this combination of masters saved him from falling into the detached specialism which has been the note of so many German workmen, and supplied the sort of co-ordinating idealism which has been the mark of all his work. He had thus the instincts and training of the scholar, and also, in a rarer degree, the genius of the popular expositor. The quick and sensitive and assimilative qualities of his mind made him, especially in the earlier part of his career, all the more stimulative a teacher. He was a kind of prophet of the dawn, while as yet it was dark—i. e. he interpreted to the slow-paced English mind things especially touching language and religion which had never entered into its heart to conceive, but which had been exercising the higher scholarship and the newer philosophy of both Germany and France.'
One of the great pleasures of this year was the return of his old friend Mr. George Butler with his brilliant young wife to live in Oxford. Mrs. Butler was a very good musician, and the possessor of a fine grand pianoforte, and for the next five years, till the Butlers left Oxford, Max Muller was on the most intimate terms with them. Mrs. Butler recalls his gaiety, his readiness of repartee, his brilliant powers of conversation, his fresh, almost boyish enjoyment of everything: whilst the common bond of music drew them much together. Numerous were the excursions and picnics in which Max Muller took part with his friends, whose house was constantly full of young guests, sisters or other relatives of the Butlers. With the exception of Professor Donkin's family, and the Observer Manuel Johnson, there was no house in those days where Max felt so completely at home, or was so welcomed and liked by all the inmates.
Some years later Mrs. Mericoffre, Mrs. Butler's sister, wrote:—
'I recall one afternoon, a few days before the old Duke of Wellington's funeral, when we hunted Max Muller out of his Sanskrit den, and made him take a long walk with us. He bought some fresh eggs at a farm-house, and put them in the tail pockets of his coat. On returning we climbed some fences, and we sat upon some stiles, and on reaching home Muller found an extensive omelet in his pocket.'
But agreeable and bright as his life was at this time, which he fully recognized, the old longing for Germany constantly breaks out. 'I long so often to be back in Germany,' he writes to his mother, ' that if any sort of favourable prospect offered, I would willingly exchange my pleasant life in Oxford for a simple German menage![/quote]
To F. Palgrave, Esq.
9, Park Place, March 21, 1852.
'I was at your gate on Saturday afternoon as I had written to you the day before. I was very sorry to have missed you, and still more when I heard the sad reason1 [His mother's dangerous illness.] which kept you at home. It is the hardest trial which we have to go through, I think—at least there is nothing which I dread so much. I feel for you and with you more than I can say; however, nothing strengthens our hope of meeting again as much as the loss of those we love. Oxford has been very quiet, and I have been hard at work on the Veda as my lectures did not give me much trouble. The English book has been stopped, but it will be finished before the Long. In summer I hope to go to Germany, but I have a good deal to do before I go. . . . Jowett is hard at work, and has finished the Romans. Stanley lives with Conington, and writes reports in the tower at University. Whenever you are back at Kneller Hall, I hope to pay you a visit, unless you prefer to come to Oxford.'
Max allowed himself only a day or two of holiday in the Easter Vacation. 'I feel that every day I waste now, I lose a day of my summer holiday,' and as his headaches were less frequent and also less severe when he did have them, he could work on vigorously. He tells his mother that he means to be thoroughly idle in Germany and amuse himself. He will not visit either Leipzig or Berlin. He writes:—
Translation. April 18, 1852.
'I am nowhere so happy as in Dessau. You will laugh at this, but had you been living for six or seven years among strangers you would understand how delightful it is to see well-known faces and well-known streets and houses round one. If I had independent means, I would live in Dessau, and by choice in my grandfather's house with the garden, where I know every tree. If we stay some time there in the vacation, I had rather not stay the whole time with my uncle. Perhaps we could take some rooms, or live in the hotel?'
In June he writes like a schoolboy expecting his holidays: 'the joy of meeting makes up for the long separation, and, as old Goethe says, it is not necessary to be always together to remain united.' He had to take his part in the Grand Commemoration of that year, and a few pages of Veda to finish, and then he was free. On June 14 he writes to his mother:—
Translation.
'You will have heard the sad news of Burnouf's death. In him I have lost a good friend, and the loss to literature is irreparable. Many of his books remain unfinished, and as there is no good Sanskrit scholar in Paris, I have half promised his friends to go there to advise with them about his library and MSS. It may be this will only be later, when the Will is known. He leaves a widow and four daughters. But I should only have to spend a day or two there, and should be glad if it could be on my return journey.'
Early in July, Max Muller left England, joined his mother at Dresden, where his friend Palgrave met him for a time but was summoned back to England by his mother's increased illness, and after a visit to his sister at Chemnitz took his mother to Carlsbad, and from there he made an excursion to Munich and the beautiful scenery of the Salzkammergut. From Munich, after many hours in the Pinakothek, he writes to his mother:—
Translation.
'I am more than ever convinced that the Italian, Spanish, and French schools together are not so fine, and true, and strengthening, as the old German and Dutch schools. J. van Eyck, Hans Hemling, Rembrandt, Durer, even Holbein and Cranach, were very fine. The Raphaels, Andrea del Sarto, Palma Vecchio, Perugino, . . . Leonardo, &c., are also wonderful, but they make so much parade of their art, and they are more bent on showing how beautifully they can paint, whilst the Germans just paint away because their heart is in it.'
He had plenty of time to visit all the beauties of Munich, as he was detained there several days through some difficulty about his passport for Austria, as he intended to visit the Tyrol. It must have been during this visit to the Tyrol that he found himself in great danger. After a long lonely day on foot he arrived late at a most forbidding-looking little inn, but it was too late to go further. The people of the inn were rude and evil-looking, and he was thankful to be able to barricade his door with a heavy piece of furniture. The door was twice attempted in the night. In the morning he found that the only guide to be had over a lonely road was a surly-looking man, but he made the guide keep in front of him the whole way, and was himself armed with a strong walking-stick. He always said that had he shown the least fear the man would have attacked him. It must be remembered that in 1852 the Tyrol was less explored and known than it is now.
On rejoining his mother they spent some happy weeks together, and Max returned to Oxford by Leipzig and Berlin, visiting many old friends. He tells his mother on his arrival in Oxford:—
Translation.
'One cannot always have such a happy time as I spent this summer. I cannot tell you how comfortable I was this time at home, but I will not complain, but only hope that it will be so again another time, if God wills. We owe to Him all the good that befalls us, and what He orders is best. Take care of yourself, and don't be unhappy, all goes with us so much better than we deserve, and than with many others. The recollection of all the happiness is a comfort too, and never has the recollection of our time together been so bright and undisturbed as this time. You were so good to me, my dear mother. I would willingly live in Dresden, but as that cannot be, you must come to Oxford when the weather is fine.'
To F. Palgrave, Esq.
9, Park Place, October 22, 1852.
'I need not tell you how I felt your loss. I should like to shake your hand—but these losses must be borne in silence. Do come to Oxford if you can, and let us talk about our little expedition to Dresden. I had such a pleasant journey afterwards to Carlsbad, the Tyrol, Salzburg, Munich—how I wished you had been with me. As to art, Munich beats everything, and the people are so much nicer, much more genial than at Berlin. Their beer is excellent, and it makes them good-natured. And such pictures, particularly from the German school . . . you must go there next year, I am sure you will be delighted. That old king was after all a great genius, whatever Lola may say of him, and however bad his poems and his prose may be. Walrond is going away; Conybeare going to be married; Morier going to Australia: so one begins to feel alone, and that is bad, and the only thing to be done is to work. Please remember me kindly to Temple.'
His lectures this term were on the 'Classification of Languages,' but he had hardly began them before he was again laid up from Oxford fogs and damp.
November, 1852.
'Dear Mrs. Butler,—It is very kind of you to cheer me up from time to time with kind inquiries, good admonitions, dear messages, and other how-do-you-do varieties. I wish I could return thanks myself, but in this weather the doctor tells me I must not go out for a week. I am quite resigned to my fate, and begin to understand what it means that you are nowhere freer than in prison. I read and write, and get a good deal of work done, which has been weighing heavily on my conscience for some time. I need not go out and eat many dinners, or make many calls. I can smoke without fear of detection. I get my friends one by one to see me and talk to me, which is so much better than if you have them all at once. I need not deliver lectures; altogether I am as happy as mortal man can be with November fogs and earthquakes all around him, not to mention gout, rheumatism, sore throats, and divers kinds of diseases to plague him. . . . Thomson asks me to write him an article on Indian Logic for the third edition of his Laws of Thought, which I am doing just now;—and here I was interrupted by Miss Grey's visit, and could not even go downstairs to speak to her, for I am so thoroughly Germanized in appearance that I must not show myself to any lady, and here a visit, so I must give it up for to-day, and remain yours truly, M. M.'
This attack of illness determined him to follow the advice Bunsen had long given him, and take an assistant for the more mechanical part of his Vedic work. Bunsen seems to have mentioned Dr. Aufrecht from Berlin to him. Max Muller entered into negotiations with Dr. Aufrecht, who arrived in Oxford in December. Early in that month Max writes to Bunsen:—
'. . . I expect Aufrecht daily. You have always advised me to seek help, and I could no longer get through my work alone, with the many interruptions caused by my health. Aufrecht is a very conscientious scholar, and as far as the rest goes that will all be right.'
Max Muller writes to his mother telling her of the new arrangement:—
Translation. December 19.
' Dr. Aufrecht is a very clever man, a Sanskritist, &c. We work togethe, and he helps me at my Veda, for which I pay him enough to live here. We shall try the plan at first for six months, and I hope it will all go well. It is very pleasant for me to have some one with whom I can talk about literary things, and my time is so filled up that I am very glad to have some one to whom I can leave part of my work: but I must wait awhile to see how it works, and whether it brings me in as much as it costs. I must spend Christmas in Oxford, as I cannot well leave him alone. The weather is dreadful, and I have constant headaches, mostly from severe colds. Otherwise I have got quite accustomed again to the English way of living, and if I would often rather find myself in Germany, you know it is not my way to grumble. We must take life as God sends it, and it would be ungrateful did I not acknowledge the many comforts I have here, and only dwelt on what I miss.'
Aufrecht lived in the same house with his employer.
The following letter alludes to the book known as Church's Essays and Reviews, a title that had not then become notorious:—
9, Park Place, December 22, 1852.
'My dear Palgrave,—I thought you would be sure to come to Oxford for the Exeter College election, else I should have written to you before this, and asked whether you would put your name to a testimonial which we intend to present to Church. You know he is going to leave Oxford, and take a small living to marry. Some of his friends are going to ask him to allow them to print a selection of his articles—not theological—and to make him a present of the whole edition. We have already a large subscription, about forty names. The subscription will be £3. Please tell me whether you wish your name to be added. Acland, Donkin, Butler, Marriott, &c., take great interest in the matter, but until the whole expense is secured by subscription, it must not be talked about. If you can get some of your friends to join, please write to them. Grant and Sellar have been written to, and have sent their subscriptions. You know probably that Sewell is going to leave Oxford. Why do you never write? Have you heard from Froude? He is staying at his father's, and very happy.'
The early part of this Christmas Vacation was spent by Max Muller in Oxford, in order to initiate his secretary Aufrecht in the work he had to do. The great floods of 1852 had left the place in a very unhealthy state, and before his lectures began again his friends the George Butlers, who were spending the vacation with their father Dean Butler at Dover, asked him to pay them a visit there. On his return he writes:—
To Mrs. Butler.
9, Park Place, January, 1853.
'I have not had a quiet minute since I came back; there was a friend from Germany waiting to be lionized all over Oxford: then all sorts of people who came to vote, and at the same time to walk and talk: then Aufrecht with lots of questions: then dinner-parties again: and letters to answer, and proofs to correct. I really wish I could sport my oak like an undergraduate, and have done with the world altogether, at least for an hour or two, that I might be able to tell you how much I enjoyed my trip to Dover, and how happy I felt among people who seemed all to be so very happy themselves. Please to translate into as good English as possible my best thanks to the Dean and Mrs. Butler. I am glad to hear that you have had a few fine days; the weather is getting better at Oxford also. As to the floods, they will not be gone before March, but the late storms have made the atmosphere quite healthy again. I do not know anything about the election; in fact, I have not seen a paper since I came back. Belle is in the most flourishing condition, so Oxford cannot be such an unhealthy place after all.'
To His Mother.
Translation. Oxford, January 30, 1853.
'. . . My lectures begin next week, and give me a good deal of work; and then I was away for a week at Dover. Dover was beautiful, especially in the storms. The waves almost beat on my windows. From the land a stormy sea looks grand. I would willingly have stayed on, but I could not leave my house companion longer alone. He is a capable man, but a little difficult to get on with. At present he takes up a good deal of my time, as I must tell and explain everything to him; but I think later he will be an advantage. I must give more time to my lectures, for England expects every man to do his duty. I do not worry about money, and would rather live more economically than let my work suffer. ... I often feel now how much time I lost from my work during my long holiday last year—that must not happen again, life is not long enough for such pauses—and yet when I am with you I always think, "You can make up the time afterwards in your work; enjoy the time together as long as you can." . . . We have had a great business here with the Parliamentary election. Gladstone, who was elected, and is now Chancellor of the Exchequer, was here on a visit a few days ago. I have seen and talked with him several times; he is an interesting man, and a very good speaker.'
To Chevalier Bunsen.
Translation. 9, Park Place, February 2, 1853.
'I get on better with Aufrecht, but not so very well yet. He decidedly desires to be baptized, but he does not feel inclined to talk to others on this point or anything connected with it.
'It is possible that when he has once taken this step he may get to feel more inner satisfaction and confidence in friends, which is prevented now by morbid impressions and imaginations. I am convinced he is a true and honest soul, but he is unsympathetic. His knowledge is thoroughly sound and comprehensive. He works well, and he seems to like his position, as he desires to stay in England. But there can be no question about working together, for as soon as one presses him a little hard he draws his head into his shell like a tortoise, and one must then leave him alone. But I still hope that in time things will take a better shape, as they are already far better than they were at first.'
The Deputy Professor was to lecture this term on 'Declension,' and so popular were his lectures, that he had a large proportion of ladies among his audience, a greater proportion than was convenient in a small lecture-room, and on being asked by a rather pompous Don what the title of his lectures meant exactly, he was ungallant enough to reply, 'I wish it might mean that I decline ladies!' This must have got abroad, to judge from the next letter to Bunsen:
Translation. 9, Park Place, February 19, 1853?
'. . . I am very well now and very happy. Aufrecht begins to " thaw." My time is almost entirely taken up with my lectures, which for the first time give me great pleasure. I have fifty hearers, all undergraduates, and many of them capable and industrious men. I write nothing, but speak extempore to them, and I feel that I can be really useful to them. My former hearers were mostly curious and suspicious Dons, and I got tired of writing rhetorical essays to be read to them. Now everything gets into much better shape, and I only hope that next term I may receive my definite appointment. I have now got to the old Latin inscriptions, Columna Rostrata, &c., and it is incredible how little one can rely upon copies; in almost every edition you find inaccuracies and variations. If only somebody would at last give exact facsimiles.'
A day or two later he writes again to Bunsen, in answer to a letter advising him to give a course of lectures on Greek Literature:—
Translation.
'I shall have finished my lectures in about a fortnight. The holidays will only last three weeks, then lectures begin again. I dare hardly venture to undertake a course on Greek literature, for my subject must always be more or less in connexion with modern languages. This is possible with tides like "declension," "conjugation," &c., including a few words about modern formations, and then concentrating on Greek, Latin, and Sanskrit. But "history of Greek literature" would hardly fit into anything. I shall hope to continue next term my lectures on Declension, and to prepare lectures on Italian Ethnology. One has to read up what is fit for the examination; and the population of Italy according to Livy and Niebuhr belongs to the standing questions. I am getting on better and better with Aufrecht, and I hope in time we shall get on capitally.'
To His Mother.
Translation. Oxford, March 5, 1853.
'The uncertain weather we are having in Oxford is very unhealthy. And yet I feel better than I have felt for a long time, and my work gets on well. I do not know what the papers have been saying again about me. My position has not as yet changed in the least, but I hope to get my full salary in October. The uncertainty is unpleasant, but I shall not starve, and everything else can be borne! My assistant costs a good deal, but that will in time be repaid, and his company, at least for literary discussion, is very useful. Of course there are many difficulties, but in time they will be set right. I correspond pretty regularly with Bunsen; he writes one book after another, but writes too much and too quickly. The events in Milan are terrible. But how can the Austrians imagine that England will interfere? That England will never give up a political refugee is well understood. England has always been a refuge for dethroned kings and popular leaders, and the English would rather go to war than give up their right.'
In accordance with Dr. Aufrecht's own wishes about his baptism, Bunsen suggested that his eldest son, the Rev. Henry Bunsen, Rector of Lilleshall, should receive him, and perform the ceremony in his own parish church. This scheme was carried out. On his return Max Muller writes:—
Translation. 9, Park Place, April 3, 1853.
'Your Excellency,—We have passed the Easter holidays most agreeably at Lilleshall, and I, as well as Aufrecht, am most grateful to you for the great help you have given us in this somewhat difficult matter. Nowhere could the act have been performed so simply, so solemnly, and so undisturbedly as by your son at Lilleshall. The friendly welcome we received has not missed its impression upon Aufrecht, and I hope that in future matters will improve with him more and more . . .'
To his mother he writes:—
Translation. April.
'I would gladly go with you to Carlsbad, but after careful consideration I see that it is impossible for me to leave my work this year for the whole summer. I have begun several things which have been on my conscience for several years, and I owe it to myself to finish them; and this I can only do here in England, and in the Long Vacation. And now I am busy with my lectures, and the decision as to my full salary occupies my time too. I have indeed a fair prospect that there will be no opposition; but of course there is a prejudice against a foreigner, and I must do my best to keep all straight.'
On May 12 Bunsen wrote to urge Max Muller to join him at St. Leonards, but the Taylorian Professorship was vacant, and it was necessary to be on the spot.
To Chevalier Bunsen.
Translation. 9, Park Place, May 15, 1853.
'The business is more complicated than I expected, and the steering more difficult the nearer one approaches the harbour. I am prepared for disappointment, but do not give up hope. The new difficulties arise from the fact that the Curators are intending to raise the salary considerably: this would be delightful, if I already had the appointment, but now it brings other interests into play, and entices others to stand as candidates. But still my prospects are good, and my opponents have but one card to play, that they are Englishmen, I not. In Oxford the tables won't dance. I have wasted some hours in trying my hand at it, but the whole thing seems perfectly useless, especially as it is purely mechanical.
'Aufrecht is going on all right—he does not wish to return to Germany.'
Bunsen wrote cheerily in reply, and says he had written to his 'brotherly friend Pusey' (the squire) to help in the canvass. 'I know few men so able to give good advice; besides, he is very much attached to you.'
To The Same.
Translation. 9, Park Place, May 28, 1853.
'Contrary to my expectations, my affairs get more hopeless and involved. The Curators have at last had a meeting, and settled to postpone the election till after the Long Vacation. It is a hard trial of one's patience, especially as it is still uncertain whether my election may not after all be opposed, and 1 should then have lost four years' time and work. For three years I have laid all aside, and given my whole time to this office. I felt Spartam nactus es, hanc exorna [Google translate: You've got Sparta, dress it up], and if I had thus provided for my material wants for the rest of my life, I could well be satisfied, and should have had time and leisure to make up what I had lost. Now I really don't know what to do, and whether it is not best to return to Germany and finish up and publish what I have already done on the Veda. My friends advise me to stay on here, and they assure me Convocation would veto the election of any one else, if the Curators attempted it. For myself, I am almost indifferent. I shall probably have another year of this uncertainty, of which I have had enough in the past three years. However, such is the world, says John Bull, and tries to console himself. I am doing my best to follow his good advice.'
To this Bunsen replied:—
Translation. May 30.
'It is a great trial of patience, but be patient, that is wise. One must never allow the toilsome labour of years of quiet reflection and of utmost exertion for the attainment of one's aim to be destroyed by an unpropitious event. It is most probably the best for you that the affair should not now be hurried through. Your claims are stronger every quarter, and will certainly become more so in the eyes of the English through good temper and patience under trying circumstances. I don't for a moment doubt that you will be elected. Germany would suit you now as little as it would suit me, and we both should not suit Germany. So patience, my dear friend, and with a good will.'
Early in May, Bunsen had written to Max Muller asking his help in the work then occupying all his leisure time and thoughts, 'The Philosophy of Universal History applied to Language and Religion,' being Volumes III and IV of Christianity and Mankind. Bunsen says:—
'In working over the historical part I put aside a chapter, "The Primitive Languages in India," but find out, just as I intended to make you the heros eponymus, that you only dealt in your lecture (before the British Association) with Bengali. . . . Could you not write a little article on this for my book? The original language in India must have been Turanian, not Semitic; but we are bound in honour to prove it.'
This invitation led to the pamphlet On the Turanian Languages, which is now out of print as a separate publication, but it forms, under the title, 'Last Results of the Turanian Researches,' the second half of the third volume of Bunsen's Christianity and Mankind, and though not published till 1854, owing to incessant delays in printing, was almost entirely written in 1853, and involved a constant correspondence with Bunsen through the rest of this year. It is many years since Max Muller gave up most of the views enunciated in his essay on the Turanian languages of India, views which were disproved as these languages were more fully known and studied. The concluding paragraph is perhaps worth quoting as applicable to all linguistic studies:—
'And now, if we gaze from our native shores over that vast ocean of human speech, with its waves rolling on from continent to continent, rising under the fresh breezes of the morning of history, and slowly heaving in our own more sultry atmosphere, with sails gliding over its surface, and many an oar ploughing through its surf, and the flags of all nations waving joyously together, with its rocks and wrecks, its storms and battles, yet reflecting serenely all that is beneath and above and around it; if we gaze and hearken to the strange sounds rushing past our ears in unbroken strains, it seems no longer a wild tumult, but we feel as if placed within some ancient cathedral, listening to a chorus of innumerable voices; and the more intensely we listen, the more all discords melt away into higher harmonies, till at last we hear but one majestic trichord, or a mighty unison, as at the end of a sacred symphony.
'Such visions will float through the study of the grammarian, and in the midst of toilsome researches his heart will suddenly beat, as he feels the conviction growing upon him, that men are brethren in the simplest sense of the word—the children of the same father—whatever their country, their colour, their language, and their faith.'
This was the year of Lord Derby's installation as Chancellor of the University, and Max Muller resolved to take refuge from all the gaieties with Bunsen, who had long been pressing him to come to Carlton Terrace.
Besides the treatise on the Turanian or nomadic languages of India, Bunsen asked his help in tracing the relationship of the Vedic language with Zend, urging him to gather the results of his investigations into a separate chapter.
To Chevalier Bunsen.
Translation. 9, Park Place, July 3, 1853.
'When you spoke to me in London about printing your work on Egypt, you told me that you expected my contribution in September. I therefore began at once to arrange and carry out the part with regard to the comparison of Egyptian and Aryan roots. The work requires great care, and if the essay is to be printed just as I write it, and under my responsibility, I cannot really promise its completion before September. The relation between Egyptian and Aryan is much like that which would exist between Sanskrit and French, did we not possess the connecting links. Mere, pere, frere, and soeur [Google translate: Mother, father, brother, and sister], set against matar, patar, bhratar, and svastar, show a systematic parallelism and a common origin. But if one had to compare Sanskrit asru with larme, how could one prove their identity without the connecting links? Well, I will try, but it is quite impossible for me to solve the problem so quickly. Also in the matter of the relation of the Zend and Vedic peoples I will gladly formulate and prove the conclusions at which I have arrived, but I am a slow coach, and fear accidents in an express train. I hope, especially if there is no war, that you may have so many diplomatic occupations, that I may be ready before Egypt comes to be printed. I work every day at the Bodleian from nine till four, at the catalogue of the Sanskrit MSS.; then I am printing the preface to the second volume of the Veda, which is ready: then I am writing a treatise on the burning of bodies in the Veda, which is nearly ready (widows were not burnt). Then comes the essay for Lepsius on the Indian alphabet. Then the first volume of the Prolegomena must be printed before the end of the vacation; and lastly comes a course of lectures for next term. Where am I to find time without robbery? Professor Stenzler, of Breslau, is now here, a very capable man of the last generation, but who advances with modern progress, and has taken refuge from Alexander's India in Vedic antiquity. He is Weber's teacher.'
To Chevalier Bunsen.
Translation. Park Place, July 7, 1853.
'I am sorry that I must again trouble you for an explanation as to the extent, as well as the sort of essay, on the original inhabitants of India and the Zend emigrants. You write that it is for your philosophical work. Is that "The Prophets" which I saw when I was in London, or is it an addition to the philosophical Aphorisms of Hippolytus? If it is for the Aphorisms, it ought to fill a couple of pages at most; but if it is for the great work on the "History of the World," it must be much more diffuse. Or is it another book at which you are working?'
It is not surprising that Max Muller was puzzled by the multiplicity of Bunsen's works, for nearly all of which he asked for help from his young friend. At this time he was expecting immediately three separate papers from Max Muller—on the Zend Avesta, the Rig-veda, and the Turanian languages of India, and later in the year Bunsen hoped for a linguistic chapter for his work on Egypt.
On July 11 Max Muller sent Bunsen the chapter on Persian Researches which will be found on p. no of Volume III, Christianity and Mankind, and which was reprinted in the original edition of Chips, Volume I, but was omitted in the last edition as 'not up to date.' On July 13 Bunsen writes:—
'"What one desired in youth one obtains in old age." I felt this as I read your chapter yesterday. It is exactly what I first wished to know myself in order to tell it to my readers. You have done it after my own heart—only a little too briefly, for a concluding sentence on the connexion of the language of the Achaemenian Inscriptions with Zend is wanting.'
On July 30 he writes to his mother:—
Translation.
'Sunday is my best day for letter-writing. During the week work goes on from early till late, and my head is so full of Sanskrit I feel quite stupified. I am very glad I stayed here this summer. I had so many books to read and work through, for which I have no time in my lectures, and yet one must keep up with literature, or one would have to sing, like the Austrian militiamen, "Immer langsam voran." [Google translate: Always progress slowly.] That it was hard to give up my plans for travelling, you can believe; but one must remember the duties as well as the enjoyments of life, and so we will look forward to next year, when, please God, we shall be together. I am very well, and the harder I work the better I feel.'
At this time, when his old friend Carus was about to be married, he writes to his mother, who was always exhorting him to follow so good an example, 'I have not yet any plans of the sort. I think one has trouble enough in making one's own way through the world. If such a thing presents itself— well; but I have no wish to take much trouble in looking about.'
Max Muller writes to Bunsen for his birthday:—
Translation. 9, Park Place, August 24.
'First of all I wish you joy of this day with all my heart. May this day often return to you in the midst of all your dear ones, and in the full tide of all your work and labour. If to grow a year older means to have completed a new work, we can stand the growing older very well—it is not then a growing older; but it is growing, working, and getting young again, and our strength grows with every year that has been made use of, and with every work that has been completed. A fresh and powerful Senatus is after all the real strength of a country, the real support of the res publica in politics as well as in spirit. The Juventus is too much occupied with itself, and youth is often more hindering than useful when it comes to losing sight of oneself as much as possible. Allow me to continue to find courage and counsel with you, and have patience with a passenger who would like best to sit still in the carriage corner, and though not asleep would fain close his eyes till he has arrived at the last station.'
The sad tone of the last sentence is fully accounted for in the next letter to Bunsen, written the end of August:—
Translation, August 28.
'I feel what the English call knocked up, and I must get some fresh air before I can get to work again. You shall receive an essay on Vedic Antiquity from Wales, where I go to-morrow. It is possible that there may be, among the Persians, people or even races whose forefathers were Turanian or Semitic, but they acquired Persian just as the Normans acquired Saxon, and the Persian language has always remained the same. If it comes to classification of languages, it does not depend on who speaks the languages, just as little as a botanist troubles himself to know whether a potato has grown in Europe or America. I always use the term Aryan instead of Indo-European, Iranian only for Persian and Median. Both together I take as the South-Aryan branch, in contrast to all the rest of the Aryans who turned to the north-west. The collection of Hymns of the Rig-veda was completed towards 1000 B.C. That cannot of course be proved like 2 + 2 = 4, hut it is as sure as all our knowledge of these times can be. I enclose a sample translation which is to find a place in the Veda article: do you know of a poet who could Miltonize it a little more? He must add nothing however, for so far the translation is literal, as far as this is possible with the old thoughts.'
Max Muller went to the Froudes' in Wales, but his enjoyment of this visit was spoilt by the weather. He tells his mother it rained day and night, and the mountains were too wet for any expeditions. On his return to Oxford he writes to Bunsen:—
Translation. Oxford, September 21, 1853.
'I returned yesterday. My holiday was longer than I expected, and I hasten to send you the introduction to the Aryan chapter. I went first to Wales to Froude, who is very well, and hard at work. He has just published an article on John Knox in the Westminster. In the next number there will be an article on Job, and in the Edinburgh one on Spinoza. From Wales I went to Glasgow, where I stayed in Calder Park near the city with my friend Walrond, With him I made excursions to Oban and Ardtornish, then to Inverary, Loch Lomond, the Trossachs, and back to Glasgow, then to Edinburgh. The scenery was beautiful, and the fine air very enjoyable, and I hope my work will go on all the better for it.'
The expedition to Ardtornish, to stay with the parents of their old friend W. Sellar, nearly proved fatal to Max Muller and Theodore Walrond. They crossed from Oban, and a sudden storm coming up, the row-boat in which they were was in great danger. The crew, who only spoke Gaelic, to quiet their fears, imbibed so much whisky that they seemed incapable of managing the boat, and both Max and his friend had to lend a hand at the oars. But they were well repaid on their arrival by the beauty of the scenery round Ardtornish, and the next morning, the sea being calm, Max Muller, who was all his life a good swimmer, ran down to the beach for a dip. Putting his things, as he thought, in safety under some stones, he enjoyed his bath to the full. But he had not calculated on the force of the wind, and on emerging from the waves he found his clothes scattered far and wide, and some gone for ever. The stony beach was covered with a sort of prickly growth, probably a sea-holly, and the search was long and painful, and resulted in the recovery of only a few necessary garments. In this guise he had to make his way back to the house, the hall of which was used for breakfast, and where the family were already assembling. He used to say, in recounting the story, that the horror of the moment always came back upon him in full force.
On September 24 Bunsen writes:—
'You have sent me the most beautiful thing you have yet written. I read your Veda essay yesterday, first to myself and then to my family circle, including Lady Raffles your great friend in petto [Google translate: in the chest.], and we were all enchanted with both matter and form.'
The article of which Bunsen speaks will be found on p. 128 of Volume III, Christianity and Mankind, and was republished in Chips, Volume I, original edition, but like the Persian chapter was omitted in the last edition. In diction it well deserves the praise bestowed on it by Bunsen.
We constantly at this time, in his letters to Bunsen, find Max Muller complaining of the dilatoriness and carelessness of even the best London printers, as compared with the University Press at Oxford. In the latter years of his life he would consent to print nowhere else.
The lectures this term were on 'The Origin of the Romance Languages,' and he tells Bunsen his 'audience is larger than ever.' How he managed to get through all his work is a marvel, for besides his lectures, his Vedic work, the Turanian article for Bunsen, and a new work forced on him by his indefatigable friend, of which we shall hear presently, he was collecting testimonials for the Curators of the Taylor Institution, who had definitely fixed the election to the Professorship for the beginning of the January Term. Meantime they had been so satisfied with the result of the lectures, that, as he tells his mother, he is already receiving this quarter the full salary. The testimonials, the originals of which must ever be a precious treasure for his children, are from Humboldt, Bunsen, Bopp, Lepsius, Canon Jacobson (later Bishop of Chester), W. Thomson (later Archbishop of York), Mr. Jowett, Professors Wilson and Donkin. Mr. Jowett says of him, 'There are few persons in whom so much judgement is combined with so much imagination. It would be unnecessary to add, except to those who do not know him, that, during his stay at Oxford, he has been universally beloved and respected.' Mr. Donkin says, 'He can be elementary without being (in the bad sense) popular, and scientific without ceasing to be intelligible and interesting to beginners.'
And now we come to an event that was to alter and influence the whole remainder of Max Muller's life, though for several years to come the outer tenor of it may have seemed unchanged, and only one or two intimate friends knew the influence at work within him. On November 26 Max and his future wife met for the first time at her father's house. Mr. Froude, her uncle by marriage, had often spoken of his clever young German friend, and his brother-in-law asked him to bring Max Muller for a Saturday to Monday visit. Years after, he told her that as soon as he saw her, he felt, 'That is my fate.' The party assembled at Ray Lodge was a pleasant one, and he at once fascinated all present by his brilliant, lively conversation and exquisite music. He was very dark, with regular features, fine bright eyes, and a beautiful countenance full of animation, and it was difficult to reconcile his youthful appearance with his already great reputation. Two days later they met again, this time at Oxford, where the family from Ray Lodge went for a meeting of the leading Church choirs of the Diocese. Max Muller was their constant guide, and Magdalen, Merton, Christ Church, the Bodleian, &c., were visited in his company. He was asked to spend Christmas at Ray Lodge, but fealty to Bunsen and the work he was engaged in for him kept him at Oxford.
To Chevalier Bunsen.
Translation. Oxford, December 9, 1853.
'I gladly accept your invitation for next Tuesday (to meet Kingsley), and I hope by then the first half of my essay will be printed. Aufrecht is very busy. A week ago he left this house and has taken a lodging for himself. He feels more independent, and I too feel more free. I wish one could find a secure place for him. He has been a year here, and I have never seen a man so totally changed, and certainly only for the better.'
It was almost at the close of the year that Bunsen asked Max Muller to help him in a scheme which was occupying his own mind a good deal, i.e. a Uniform Alphabet to be used by missionaries in reducing languages to writing for the first time. Lepsius had been occupied with this problem for some time, but his alphabet seemed too complicated for cheap printing. Max Muller at once took up the subject, and so hard did he work that his pamphlet. Proposals for a Uniform Missionary Alphabet, was ready to lay before the first conference held on the subject at Bunsen's house early in January, 1854. Max Muller's alphabet was very simple, employing italics for the modifications of the usual alphabet, whereas Lepsius's plans represented these modifications by signs, in some cases as many as three, over each letter. In one letter to Bunsen, Max Muller says, 'If we come to a common understanding with regard to the thirty-five definable consonants, and the twelve to fourteen vowels, let us thank God.' And again, 'If conferences are first to be held, I think it would be best I should not appear, but ask you to play the part of pleader. I have spoilt so many things through undue eagerness, that I prefer managing everything by writing. But I await your orders. If my proposals are not likely to be accepted, it is not worth the trouble of printing. If it is accepted, I am ready to publish them in golden letters on parchment! I promise Lepsius that if his alphabet is accepted, I will not print a word but in that, even if each letter has three accents.' So carefully and thoroughly did Max Muller go into the whole question, that he spent several days dissecting throats with Dr. Acland. 'I could give the whole alphabet anatomically drawn,' he says.
In the Life of Baron Bunsen we find some extracts from the diary of one of his daughters:—
'To breakfast came Sir C. Trevelyan, Sir J. Herschell, Mr. Arthur, Professor Owen, afterwards Mr. Venn and several missionaries and men of learning, to take part in the long-planned conference on the comparative merits of two systems of transcription for all alphabets. According to that of Max Muller, italics would take the place of all accents, lines, dots, used by Lepsius. The conference lasted uninterruptedly till half-past one o'clock.
'Bishop Thirlwall dined with us, and the conversation was animated between him and Lepsius (who arrived on the 27th) and Max Muller and my father. The alphabetical conferences take place every day.
'Lepsius has returned to Berlin. The last conference to-day leaves the matter undecided.'
And so it remained, after all the labour and time Bunsen and Max Muller had expended. The English missionary societies now mostly follow a system used by the Bible Society, but there is not entire unanimity.