SECTION II.STUDY OF HIS CHARACTER.In the previous section we have traced the leading events of a life which was quietly and uniformly successful. We have watched the passage of the errand-boy into the philosopher, and we have seen how at first he begged for the meanest place in a scientific workshop, and at last declined the highest honour which British Science was capable of granting. His success did not lie in the amassing of money—he deliberately turned aside from the path of proffered wealth; nor did it lie in the attainment of social position and titles—he did not care for the weight of these. But if success consists in a life full of agreeable occupation, with the knowledge that its labours are adding to the happiness and wealth of the world, leading on to an old age full of honour, and the prospect of a blissful immortality,—then the highest success crowned the life of Faraday.How did he obtain it? Not by inheritance, and not by the force of circumstances. The wealth or the reputation of fathers is often an invaluable starting-point for sons: a liberal education and the contact of superior minds inearly youth is often a mighty help to the young aspirant: the favour of powerful friends will often place on a vantage-ground the struggler in the battle of life. But Faraday had none of these. Accidental circumstances sometimes push a man forward, or give him a special advantage over his fellows; but Faraday had to make his circumstances, and to seize the small favours that fortune sometimes threw in his way. The secret of his success lay in the qualities of his mind.It is only fair, however, to remark that he started with no disadvantages. There was no stain in the family history: he had no dead weight to carry, of a disgraced name, or of bad health, or deficient faculties, or hereditary tendencies to vice. It must be acknowledged, too, that he was endowed with a naturally clear understanding and an unusual power of looking below the surface of things.The first element of success that we meet with in his biography is the faithfulness with which he did his work. This led the bookseller to take his poor errand-boy as an apprentice; and this enabled his father to write, when he was 18: "Michael is bookbinder and stationer, and is very active at learning his business. He has been most part of four years of his time out of seven. He has a very good master and mistress, and likes his place well. He had a hard time for some while at first going; but, as the old saying goes, he has rather got the head above water, as there is two other boys under him." This faithful industry marked also his relations with Davy and Brande, and the whole of his subsequent life; and at last, when he found that he could no longer discharge his duties, it made him repeatedly presshis resignation on the managers of the Royal Institution, and beg to be relieved of his eldership in the Church.His love of study, and hunger after knowledge, led him to the particular career which he pursued, and that power of imagination, which reveals itself in his early letters, grew and grew, till it gave him such a familiarity with the unseen forces of nature as has never been vouchsafed to any other mortal.As a source of success there stands out also his enthusiasm. A new fact seemed to charge him with an energy that gleamed from his eyes and quivered through his limbs, and, as by induction, charged for the time those in his presence with the same vigour of interest. Plücker, of Bonn, was showing him one day in the laboratory at Albemarle Street his experiments on the action of a magnet on the electric discharge in vacuum tubes. Faraday danced round them; and as he saw the moving arches of light, he cried, "Oh! to live in it!" Mr. James Heywood once met him in the thick of a tremendous storm at Eastbourne, rubbing his hands with delight because he had been fortunate enough to see the lightning strike the church tower, and displace a pinnacle.This enthusiasm led him to throw all his heart into his work. Nor was the energy spasmodic, or wasted on unworthy objects; for, in the words of Bence Jones, his was "a lifelong lasting strife to seek and say that which he thought was true, and to do that which he thought was kind."Indeed, his perseverance in a noble strife was another of the grand elements in his success. His tenacity of purposeshowed itself equally in little and in great things. Arranging some apparatus one day with a philosophical instrument maker, he let fall on the floor a small piece of glass: he made several ineffectual attempts to pick it up. "Never mind," said his companion, "it is not worth the trouble." "Well, but, Murray, I don't like to be beaten by something that I have once tried to do."The same principle is apparent in that long series of electrical researches, where for a quarter of a century he marched steadily along that path of discovery into which he had been lured by the genius of Davy. And so, whatever course was set before him, he ran with patience towards the goal, not diverted by the thousand objects of interest which he passed by, nor stopping to pick up the golden apples that were flung before his feet.This tremendous faculty of work was relieved by a wonderful playfulness. This rarely appears in his writings, but was very frequent in his social intercourse. It was a simple-hearted joyousness, the effervescence of a spirit at peace with God and man. It not seldom, however, assumed the form of good-natured banter or a practical joke. Indications of this playfulness have already been given, and I have tried to put upon paper some instances that occur to my own recollection, but the fun depended so much upon his manner, that it loses its aroma when separated from himself.However, I will try one story. I was spending a night at an hotel at Ramsgate when on lighthouse business. Early in the morning there came a knock at the bed-room door, but, as I happened to be performing my ablutions, I cried,"Who's there?" "Guess." I went over the names of my brother commissioners, but heard only "No, no," till, not thinking of any other friend likely to hunt me up in that place, I left off guessing; and on opening the door I saw Faraday enjoying with a laugh my inability to recognize his voice through a deal board.A student of the late Professor Daniell tells me that he remembers Faraday often coming into the lecture-room at King's College just when the Professor had finished and was explaining matters more fully to any of his pupils who chose to come down to the table. One day the subject discoursed on and illustrated had been sulphuretted hydrogen, and a little of the gas had escaped into the room, as it perversely will do. When Faraday entered he put on a look of astonishment, as though he had never smelt such a thing before, and in a comical manner said, "Ah! a savoury lecture, Daniell!" On another occasion there was a little ammonia left in a jar over mercury. He pressed Daniell to tell him what it was, and when the Professor had put his head down to see more clearly, he whiffed some of the pungent gas into his face.Occasionally this humour was turned to good account, as when, one Friday evening before the lecture, he told the audience that he had been requested by the managers to mention two cases of infringement of rule. The first related to the red cord which marks off the members' seats. "The second case I take to be a hypothetical one, namely, that of a gentleman wearing his hat in the drawing-room." This produced a laugh, which the Professor joined in, bowed, and retired.This faithful discharge of duty, this almost intuitive insight into natural phenomena, and this persevering enthusiasm in the pursuit of truth, might alone have secured a great position in the scientific world, but they alone could never have won for him that large inheritance of respect and love. His contemporaries might have gazed upon him with an interest and admiration akin to that with which he watched a thunderstorm; but who feels his affections drawn out towards a mere intellectual Jupiter? We must look deeper into his character to understand this. There is a law well recognized in the science of light and heat, that a body can absorb only the same sort of rays which it is capable of emitting. Just so is it in the moral world. The respect and love of his generation were given to Faraday because his own nature was full of love and respect for others.Each of these qualities—his respect for and love to others, or, more generally, his reverence and kindliness—deserves careful examination.Throughout his life, Michael Faraday appeared as though standing in a reverential attitude towards Nature, Man, and God.Towards Nature, for he regarded the universe as a vast congeries of facts which would not bend to human theories. Speaking of his own early life, he says: "I was a very lively imaginative person, and could believe in the 'Arabian Nights' as easily as in the 'Encyclopædia;' but facts were important to me, and saved me. I could trust a fact, and always cross-examined an assertion." He was indeed a true disciple of that philosophy which says, "Man, who is theservant and interpreter of Nature, can act and understand no farther than he has, either in operation or in contemplation, observed of the method and order of Nature."[11]And verily Nature admitted her servant into her secret chambers, and showed him marvels to interpret to his fellow-men more wonderful and beautiful than the phantasmagoria of Eastern romance.His reverence towards Man showed itself in the respect he uniformly paid to others and to himself. Thoroughly genuine and simple-hearted himself, he was wont to credit his fellow-men with high motives and good reasons. This was rather uncomfortable when one was conscious of no such merit, and I at least have felt ashamed in his presence of the poor commonplace grounds of my words and actions. To be in his company was in fact a moral tonic. As he had learned the difficult art of honouring all men, he was not likely to run after those whom the world counted great. "We must get Garibaldi to come some Friday evening," said a member of the Institution during the visit of the Italian hero to London. "Well, if Garibaldi thinks he can learn anything from us, we shall be happy to see him," was Faraday's reply. This nobility of regard not only preserved him from envying the success of other explorers in the same field, but led him heartily to rejoice with them in their discoveries.Dumas gives us a picture of Foucault showing Faraday some of his admirable experiments, and of the two men looking at one another with eyes moistened, but full of bright expression, as they stood hand in hand, silentlythankful—the one for the pleasure he had experienced, the other for the honour that had been done him. He also tells how, on another occasion, he breakfasted at Albemarle Street, and during the meal Mr. Faraday made some eulogistic remarks upon Davy, which were coldly received by his guest. After breakfast, he was taken downstairs to the ante-room of the lecture theatre, when Faraday, walking up to the portrait of his old master, exclaimed, "Wasn't he a great man!" then turning round to the window next the entrance door, he added, "It was there that he spoke to me for the first time." The Frenchman bowed. They descended the stairs again to the laboratory. Faraday pulled out an old note-book, and turning over its pages showed where Davy had entered the means by which the first globule of potassium was produced, and had drawn a line round the description, with the words, "Capital experiment." The French chemist owned himself vanquished, and tells the tale in honour of him who remembered the greatness and forgot the littlenesses of his teacher.And the respect he showed to others he required to be shown to himself. It is difficult to imagine anyone taking liberties with him, and it was only in early life that there were small-minded creatures who would treat him not according to what he was, but according to the position from which he had risen. His servants and workpeople were always attentive to the smallest expression of his wish. Still, he did not "go through his life with his elbows out." He once wrote to Matteucci: "I see that that moves you which would move me most, viz. the imputation of a want of good faith; and I cordially sympathize with anyonewho is so charged unjustly. Such cases have seemed to me almost the only ones for which it is worth while entering into controversy. I have felt myself not unfrequently misunderstood, often misrepresented, sometimes passed by, as in the cases of specific inductive capacity, magneto-electric currents, definite electrolytic action, &c. &c.: but it is only in the cases where moral turpitude has been implied, that I have felt called upon to enter on the subject in reply." Yet, where he felt that his honour was impugned, none could be more sensitive or more resolute.This desire to clear himself, combined with his delicate regard for the feelings of others, struck me forcibly in the following incident. At Mr. Barlow's, one Friday evening after the discourse, two or three other chemists and myself were commenting unfavourably on a public act of Faraday, when suddenly he appeared beside us. I did not hesitate to tell him my opinion. He gave me a short answer, and joined others of the company. A few days afterwards he found me in the laboratory preparing for a lecture, and, without referring directly to what I had said, he gave me a full history of the transaction in such a way as to show that he could not have acted otherwise, and at the same time to render any apology on my part unnecessary.Intimately connected with his respect for Man as well as reverence for truth, was the flash of his indignation against any injustice, and his hot anger against any whom he discovered to be pretenders. When, for instance, he had convinced himself that the reputed facts of table-turningand spiritualism were false, his severe denunciation of the whole thing followed as a matter of course.Thus, too, a story is told of his once taking the side of the injured in a street quarrel by the pump in Savile Row. One evening also at my house, a young man who has since acquired a scientific renown was showing specimens of some new compounds he had made. A well-known chemist contemptuously objected that, after all, they were mere products of the laboratory: but Faraday came to the help of the young experimenter, and contended that they were chemical substances worthy of attention, just as much as though they occurred in nature.His reverence for God was shown not merely by that homage which every religious man must pay to his Creator and Redeemer, but by the enfolding of the words of Scripture and similar expressions in such a robe of sacredness, that he rarely allowed them to pass his lips or flow from his pen, unless he was convinced of the full sympathy of the person with whom he was holding intercourse.This characteristic reverence was united to an equally characteristic kindliness. This word does not exactly express the quality intended; but unselfishness is negative, goodness is too general, love is commonly used with special applications; kindness, friendship, geniality, and benevolence are only single aspects of the quality. Let the reader add these terms all together, and the resultant will be about what is meant.[12]Faraday's love to children was one way in which this kindliness was shown. Having no children of his own, he surrounded himself usually with his nieces: we have already had a glimpse of him heartily entering into their play, and we are told how a word or two from Uncle would clear away all the trouble from a difficult lesson, that a long sum in arithmetic became a delight when he undertook to explain it, and that when the little girl was naughty and rebellious, he could gently win her round, telling her how he used to feel himself when he was young, and advising her to submit to the reproof she was fighting against. Nor were his own relatives the only sharers of his kindness. One friend cherishes among his earliest recollections, that of Faraday making for him a fly-cage and a paper purse, which had a real bright half-crown in it. When the present Mr. Baden Powell was a little fellow of thirteen, he used to give short lectures on chemistry in his father's house, and the philosopher of Albemarle Street liked to join the family audience, and would listen and applaud the experiments heartily. When one day my wife and I called on him with our children, he set them playing at hide-and-seek in the lecture theatre, and afterwards amused them upstairs with tuning-forks and resounding glasses. At asoiréeat Mr. Justice Grove's, he wanted to see the younger children of the family; so the eldest daughter brought down the little ones in their nightgowns to the foot of the stairs, and Faraday expressed his gratification with "Ah! that's the best thing you have done to-night." And when his faculties had nearly faded, it is remembered how the stroking of his hand by Mr. Vincent's little daughter quickened him again to bright and loving interest.It would be easy to multiply illustrations of this kindliness in various relations of life.Here is one of his own telling, where certainly the effect produced was not owing to any knowledge of how princely an intellect underlay the loving spirit. It is from a journal of his tour in Wales:—"Tuesday, July 20th.—After dinner I set off on a ramble to Melincourt, a waterfall on the north side of the valley, and about six miles from our inn. Here I got a little damsel for my guide who could not speak a word of English. We, however, talked together all the way to the fall, though neither knew what the other said. I was delighted with her burst of pleasure as, on turning a corner, she first showed me the waterfall. Whilst I was admiring the scene, my little Welsh damsel was busy running about, even under the stream, gathering strawberries. On returning from the fall I gave her a shilling that I might enjoy her pleasure: she curtsied, and I perceived her delight. She again ran before me back to the village, but wished to step aside every now and then to pull strawberries. Every bramble she carefully moved out of the way, and ventured her bare feet to try stony paths, that she might find the safest for mine. I observed her as she ran before me, when she met a village companion, open her hand to show her prize, but without any stoppage, word, or other motion. When we returned to the village I bade her good-night, and she bade me farewell, both by her actions and, I have no doubt, her language too."In a letter which Mr. Abel, the Director of the ChemicalDepartment of the War Establishment, has sent me, occur the following remarks:—"Early in 1849 I was appointed, partly through the kind recommendation of Faraday, to instruct the senior cadets and a class of artillery officers in the Arsenal, in practical chemistry. On the occasion of my first attendance at Woolwich, when, having just reached manhood, I was about to deliver my first lecture as a recognized teacher, I was naturally nervous, and was therefore dismayed when on entering the class-room I perceived Faraday, who, having come to Woolwich, as usual, to prepare for his next morning's lecture at the Military Academy, had been prompted by his kindly feelings to lend me the support of his presence upon my first appearance among his old pupils. In a moment Faraday put me completely at my ease; he greeted me heartily, saying, 'Well, Abel, I have come to see whether I can assist you;' and suiting action to word, he bustled about, persisting in helping me in the arrangement of my lecture-tables,—and at the close of my demonstration he followed me from pupil to pupil, aiding each in his first attempt at manipulation, and evidently enjoying most heartily the self-imposed duty of assistant to his youngprotégé."Another scientific friend, Mr. W. F. Barrett, writes:—"My first interview with Mr. Faraday ten years ago left an impression upon me I can never forget. Young student as I then was, thinking chiefly of present work and little of future prospects, and till then unknown to Mr. Faraday, judge of my feelings when, taking my hand in both of his, he said, 'I congratulate you upon choosing to be aphilosopher:it is an arduous life, but a noble and a glorious one. Work hard, and work carefully, and you will have success.' The sweet yet serious way he said this made the earnestness of work become a very vivid reality, and led me to doubt whether I had not dared to undertake too lofty a pursuit. After this Mr. Faraday never forgot to remember me in a number of thoughtful and delicate ways. He would ask me upstairs to his room to describe or show him the results of any little investigation I might have made: taking the greatest interest in it all, his pleasure would seem to equal and thus heighten mine, and then he would add words of kind suggestion and encouragement. In the same kindly spirit he has invited me to his house at Hampton Court, or would ask me to join him at supper after the Friday evening's lecture. His kindness is further shown by his giving me a volume of his researches on Chemistry and Physics, writing therein, 'From his friend Michael Faraday.' Those who live alone in London, unknown and uncared-for by any around them, can best appreciate these marks of attention which Mr. Faraday invariably showed, and not only to myself, but equally to my fellow-assistant in the chemical laboratory."The following instance among many that might be quoted will illustrate his readiness to take trouble on behalf of others. When Dr. Noad was writing his "Manual of Electricity," a doubt crossed his mind as to whether Sir Snow Harris's unit jar gave a true measure of the quantity of electricity thrown into a Leyden jar: he asked Faraday, and his doubt was confirmed. Shortly afterwards he received a letter beginning thus:—"My dear Sir,"Whilst looking over my papers on induction, I was reminded of our talk about Harris's unit jar, and recollected that I had given you a result just thereverseof my old conclusions, and, as I believe, of the truth. I think the jaris a true measure, so long as the circumstances of position, &c., are not altered; for its discharge and the quantity of electricity thus passed on depends on the constant relation of the balls connected with the inner and outer surface coating to each other, and is independent of their joint relation to the machine, battery, &c.... Perhaps I have not made my view clear, but next time we meet, remind me of the matter."Ever truly yours,"M. Faraday."And just a week afterwards Dr. Noad received a second letter, surmounted by a neat drawing, and describing at great length experiments that the Professor had since made in order to place the matter beyond doubt.And it was not merely for friends and brothersavantsthat he would take trouble. Old volumes of theMechanics' Magazinebear testimony to the way in which he was asked questions by people in all parts of the kingdom, and that he was accustomed to give painstaking answers to such letters."Do to others as you would wish them to do to you," was a precept often on his lips. But I have heard that he was sometimes charged with transgressing it himself, inasmuch as he took an amount of trouble for other peoplewhich he would have been greatly distressed if they had taken for him.His charities were very numerous,—not to beggars; for them he had the Mendicity Society's tickets,—but to those whose need he knew. The porter of the Royal Institution has shown me, among his treasured memorials, a large number of forms for post-office orders, for sums varying from 5s.to 5l., which Faraday was in the habit of sending in that way to different recipients of his thoughtful bounty. Two or three instances have come to my knowledge of his having given more considerable sums of money—say 20l.—to persons who he thought would be benefited by them. In some instances the gift was called a loan, but he lent "not expecting again," and entered into the spirit of the injunction, "When thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth."This principle was in fact stated in one of his letters to a friend: "As a case of distress I shall be very happy to help you as far as my means allow me in such cases; but then I never let my name go to such acts, and very rarely even the initials of my name." His contributions to the general funds of his Church were kept equally secret.From all these circumstances, therefore, it is impossible to gauge the amount of his charitable gifts; but when it is remembered that for many years his income from different sources must have been 1,000l.or 1,200l., that he and Mrs. Faraday lived in a simple manner—comfortably, it is true, but not luxuriously—and that his whole income was disposed of in some way, there can be little doubt that his gifts amounted to several hundred pounds per annum.But it was not in monetary gifts alone that his kindness to the distressed was shown. Time was spent as freely as money; and an engrossing scientific research would not be allowed to stand in the way of his succouring the sorrowful. Many persons have told me of his self-denying deeds on behalf of those who were ill, and of his encouraging words. He had indeed a heart ever ready to sympathize. Thus meeting once in the neighbourhood of Hampton Court an old friend who had retired there invalided and was being drawn about in a Bath chair, he is said to have burst into tears.When eight years ago my wife and my only son were taken away together, and I lay ill of the same fatal disease, he called at my house, and in spite of remonstrances found his way into the infected chamber. He would have taken me by the hand if I had allowed him; and then he sat a while by my bedside, consoling me with his sympathy and cheering me with the Christian hope.It is no wonder that this kindliness took the hearts of men captive; and this quality was, like mercy, "twice blessed; it blesseth him that gives, and him that takes." The feeling awakened in the minds of others by this kindliness was indeed a source of the purest pleasure to himself; trifling proofs of interest or love could easily move his thankfulness; and he richly enjoyed the appreciation of his scientific labours. This would often break forth in words. Thus in the middle of a letter to A. De la Rive, principally on scientific matters, he writes:—"Do you remember one hot day, I cannot tell how many years ago, when I was hot and thirsty in Geneva,and you took me to your house in the town and gave me a glass of water and raspberry vinegar? That glass of drink is refreshing to me still."Again: "Tyndall, the sweetest reward of my work is the sympathy and good-will which it has caused to flow in upon me from all quarters of the world."But to estimate rightly this amiability of character, it must be distinctly remembered that it was not that superabundance of good-nature which renders some men incapable of holding their own, or rebuking what they know to be wrong. In proof of this his letters to the spiritualists might be quoted; but the following have not hitherto seen the light. They are addressed to two different parties whose inventions came officially before him."You write 'private' on the outside of your official communication, and 'confidential' within. I will take care to respect these instructions as far as falls within my duty; but I can have nothing private or confidentialas regards the Trinity House, which is my chief. Whatever opinion I send to them I must accompany with the papers you send me. If therefore you wish anything held back from them, send me another official answer, and I will return you the one I have, marked 'confidential.' Our correspondence is indeed likely to become a little irregular, because your papers have not come to me through the Trinity House. You will feel that I cannot communicate any opinion I may form to you: I am bound to the Trinity House, to whom I must communicate in confidence. I have no objection to your knowing my conclusions; but theTrinity Houseis the fit judge of the use it may make of them, orthe degree of confidence they may think they deserve, or the parties to whom they may choose to communicate them."By a foot-note it appears that theprivate and confidentialcommunication was returned to the writer, by desire, four days afterwards."Sir,"I have received your note and read your pamphlet. There is nothing in either which makes it at all desirable to me to see your apparatus, for I have not time to spare to look at a matter two or three times over. In referring to ——, I suppose you refer also to his application to the Trinity House. In that case I shall hear from himthrough the Trinity House. He has, however, certain inquiries (which I have no doubt have gone to him long ago through the Trinity House) to answer before I shall think it necessary to take any further steps in the matter. With these, however, I suppose you have nothing to do."Are you aware that many years ago our Institution was lighted up for months, if not for years together, by oil-gas (or, as you call it, olefiant gas), compressed into cylinders to the extent of thirty atmospheres, and brought to us from a distance? I have no idea that the patent referred to at the bottom of page 9 could stand for an hour in a court of law. I think, too, you are wrong in misapplying the wordolefiant. It already belongs to a particular gas, and cannot, without confusion, be used as you use it."I am Sir,"Your obedient Servant,"M. Faraday.""Sir,"Thanks for your letter. At the close of it you ask meprivatelyand confidingly for the encouragement my opinion might give you ifthis powergas-light is fit for lighthouses. I am unable to assent to your request, as my position at the Trinity House requires that I should be able to take up any subject, applications, or documents they may bring before me in a perfectly unbiassed condition of mind."I am, Sir,"Yours very truly,"M. Faraday."The kindliness which shed its genial radiance on every worthy object around, glowed most warmly on the domestic hearth. Little expressions in his writings often reveal it, as when we read in his Swiss journal about Interlaken: "Clout-nail making goes on here rather considerably, and is a very neat and pretty operation to observe. I love a smith's shop, and anything relating to smithery. My father was a smith."When he was sitting to Noble for his bust, it happened one day that the sculptor, in giving the finishing touches to the marble, made a clattering with his chisels: noticing that his sitter appeareddistrait, he said that he feared the jingling of the tools had annoyed him, and that he was weary. "No, my dear Mr. Noble," said Faraday, putting his hand on his shoulder, "but the noise reminded me of my father's anvil, and took me back to my boyhood."This deep affection peeps out constantly in his letters to different members of his family, "bound up together," as he wrote to his sister-in-law, "in the one hope, and in faith and love which is in Jesus Christ." But it was towards hiswife that his love glowed most intensely. Yet how can we properly speak of this sacred relationship, especially as the mourning widow is still amongst us? It may suffice to catch the glimpse that is reflected in the following extract from a letter he wrote to Mrs. Andrew Crosse on the death of her husband:—"July 12, 1855."... Believe that I sympathize with you most deeply, for I enjoy in my life-partner those things which you speak of as making you feel your loss so heavily."It is the kindly domestic affections, the worthiness, the mutual aid in sorrow, the mutual joy in happiness that has existed, which makes the rupture of such a tie as yours so heavy to bear; and yet you would not wish it otherwise, for the remembrance of those things brings solace with the grief. I speak, thinking what my own trouble would be if I lost my partner; and I try to comfort you in the only way in which I think I could be comforted."M. Faraday."There was, as Tyndall has observed, a mixture of chivalry with this affection. In his book of diplomas he made the following remarkable entry:—"25th January, 1847."Amongst these records and events, I here insert the date of one which, as a source of honour and happiness, far exceeds all the rest. We weremarriedon June 12, 1821."M. Faraday."On the character of Faraday, these two qualities of reverence and kindliness have appeared to me singularly influential. Among the ways in which they manifested themselves was that beautiful combination of firmness and gentleness which has been frequently remarked: intimately associated with them also were his simplicity and truthfulness. These points must have made themselves evident already, but they deserve further illustration.In his early days, "one Sabbath morning his swift and sober steps were carrying him along the Holborn pavement towards his meeting-house, when some small missile struck him smartly on the hat. He would have thought it an accident and passed on, when a second and a third rap caused him to turn and look just in time to perceive a face hastily withdrawn from a window in the upper story of a closed linendraper's establishment. Roused by the affront, he marched up to the door and rapped. The servant opening it said there was no one at home, but Faraday declared he knew better, and desired to be shown upstairs. Opposition still being made, he pushed on, made his way up through the house, opened the door of an upper room, discovering a party of young drapers' assistants, who at once professed they knew nothing of the motive of this sudden visit. But the hunter had now run his game to earth: he taxed them sharply with their annoyance of wayfarers on the Sabbath, and said that unless an apology were made at once, they should hear from their employer of something much to their disadvantage. An apology was made forthwith."[13]Long, long after this event, Dr. and Mrs. Faraday, with Dr. Tyndall, were returning one evening from Mr. Gassiot's, on Clapham Common: a dense fog came on, and they did not know where they were. The two gentlemen got out of their vehicle, and walked to a house and knocked. A man appeared, first at a window and afterwards at the door, very angry indeed at the disturbance, and demanded to know their business. Faraday, in his calm, irresistible manner, explained the situation and their object in knocking. The man instantly changed his tone, looked foolish, and muttered something about being in a fright lest his house of business was on fire.As to simplicity of character: when, in the course of writing this book, I have spoken to his acquaintances about Faraday, the most frequent comment has been in such words as, "Oh! he was a beautiful character, and so simple-minded." I have tried to ascertain the cause of this simple-mindedness, and I believe it was the consciousness that he was meaning to do right himself, and the belief that others whom he addressed meant to do right too, and so he could just let them see everything that was passing through his mind. And while he knew no reason for concealment, there was no trace of self-conceit about him, nor any pretence at being what he was not. To illustrate this quality is not so easy; the indications of it, like his humour, were generally too delicate to be transferred to paper; but perhaps the following letter will do as well as anything else, for there are few philosophers who could have written so naturally about the pleasures of a pantomime and then about his highest hopes:—"Royal Institution, London, W."1st January, 1857."My dear Miss Coutts,"You are very kind to think of our pleasure and send us entrance to your box for to-morrow night. We thank you very sincerely, and I mean to enjoy it, for I still have a sympathy with children and all their thoughts and pleasure. Permit me to wish you very sincerely a happy year; and also to Mrs. Brown. With some of us our greatest happiness will be content mingled with patience; but there is much happiness in that and the expected end."Ever your obliged Servant,"M. Faraday."[14]As to truthfulness: he was not only truthful in the common acceptation of the word, but he did not allow, either in himself or others, hasty conclusions, random assertions, or slippery logic. "At such times he had a way of repeating the suspicious statement very slowly and distinctly, with an air of wondering scrutiny as if it had astonished him. His irony was then irresistible, and always produced a modification of the objectionable phrase."One Friday evening there was exhibited an improved Davy lamp, with an eulogistic description. Faraday added the words, "The opinion of the inventor.""An acquaintance rather given to inflict tedious narratives on his friends was descanting to Faraday on the iniquity ofsome coachman who had set him down the previous night in the middle of a dark and miry road,—'in fact,' said the irksome drawler, 'in a perfect morass; and there I was, as you may imagine, half the night, plunging and struggling to get out of this dreadful morass.' 'More ass you!' rapped out the philosopher at the top of his scale of laughter." This was a rare instance, for it was only when much provoked that he would perpetrate a pun, or depart from the kind courtesy of his habitual talk.That he was quite ready to give up a statement or view when it was proved by others to be incorrect, is shown by the Preface to the volumes in which are reprinted his "Experimental Researches." "In giving advice," says his niece Miss Reid, "he always went back to first principles, to the true right and wrong of questions, never allowing deviations from the simple straightforward path of duty to be justified by custom or precedent; and he judged himself strictly by the same rule which he laid down for others."These beauties of character were not marred by serious defects or opposing faults. "He could not be too closely approached. There were no shabby places or ugly comers in his mind." Yet he was very far from being one of those passionless men who resemble a cold statue rather than throbbing flesh and blood. He was no "model of all the virtues," dreadfully uninteresting, and discouraging to those who feel such calm perfection out of their reach. His inner life was a battle, with its wounds as well as its victory. Proud by nature, and quick-tempered, he must have found the curb often necessary; but notwithstanding the rapidity of his actions and thoughts, he knew how tokeep a tight rein on that fiery spirit.I have listened attentively to every remark in disparagement of Faraday's character, but the only serious ones have appeared to me to arise from a misunderstanding of the man, a misunderstanding the more easy because his standard of right and wrong, and of his own duty, often differed from the notions current around him. Still, it may be true that his extreme sensitiveness led him sometimes to do scant justice to those who, he imagined, were treading too closely in his own footsteps; as, for instance, when Nobili brought out some beautiful experiments on magnetism, just after the short notice of his own discoveries in 1831 which Faraday had sent to M. Hachette, and which was communicated to the Académie des Sciences. It is true also that, with his great caution and his repugnance to moral evil, he was more disposed to turn away in disgust from an erring companion than to endeavour to reclaim him. It has also been imputed to him as a fault that he founded no school, and took no young man by the hand as Davy had taken him. That this was rather his misfortune than his fault, would appear from words he once wrote to Miss Moore: "I have often endeavoured to discover a genius, but have not been very successful, though many cases seemed promising at first." The world would doubtless have been the gainer if he had stamped his own image on the minds of a group of disciples: but a man cannot do everything; and had Faraday been more of a teacher, he would perhaps have been less of an investigator.Of course Faraday was subject, like other men, to errors of judgment, and it was impossible, even if desirable,always to avoid giving offence. Thus he was constantly pestered for his autograph; and instead of throwing the applications into his waste-paper basket, he had a formal circular lithographed excusing himself from complying. This offended more than one recipient; and he was roughly made aware of it by once having the circular returned from St. Louis with a scurrilous comment, and the postage from America not prepaid. He never again used the printed form, Miss Barnard undertaking to answer all such requests.It has been previously remarked that Faraday took little part in social movements, and went little into society, but it must not be supposed that he was by any means unsocial. It seems probable that his freedom in this matter was somewhat hampered by the principles in which he had been brought up: it is certain that he was restrained by the desire to give all the time and energy he could to scientific research. Yet pleasant stories are told of his occasional appearances at social gatherings. Thus he liked to attend the Royal Academy dinners, and in earlier days he enjoyed the artistic and musicalconversazionesat Hullmandel's, where Stanfield Turner and Landseer met Garcia and Malibran; and sometimes he joined this pleasant company at supper and charades, at others in their excursions up the river in an eight-oared cutter. Captain Close has described to me how, when the French Lighthouse authorities put up the screw-pile light on the sands near Calais, they invited the Trinity House officers and Faraday to inspect it. A dinner was arranged for them after the inspection, and M. Reynaud proposed the health of theétranger célèbre. A young engineer took exception to Faraday being called astranger—since he had been at St. Cyr he had known the great Englishman well by his works. The Professor replied to the compliment in the language of his hosts, with a few of his happy and kindly remarks. A gentleman high in the diplomatic service, who was present, remarked that Faraday had said many things which were not French, but not a word which ought not to be so.More unrestricted was Faraday's sympathy with Nature. He felt the poetry of the changing seasons, but there were two aspects of Nature that especially seemed to claim communion with his spirit: he delighted in a thunderstorm, and he experienced a pleasurable sadness as the orange sunset faded into the evening twilight. There are other minds to which both these sensations are familiar, but they seem to have been felt with great intensity by him. No doubt his electrical knowledge added much to his interest in the grand discharges from the thunder-clouds, but it will hardly account for his standing long at a window watching the vivid flashes, a stranger to fear, with his mind full of lofty thoughts, or perhaps of high communings. Sometimes, too, if the storm was at a little distance, he would summon a cab, and, in spite of the pelting rain, drive to the scene of awful beauty.On a clear starry night Captain Close quoted to him the words of Lorenzo in the "Merchant of Venice:"—... "Look, how the floor of heavenIs thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,But in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;Such harmony is in immortal souls;But, whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close us in, we cannot hear it."Faraday, who happened not to be familiar with the passage, made his friend repeat it over and over again as he drank in the whole meaning of the poetry, for there is a true sense in which no other mortal had ever opened his ears so fully to the harmony of the universe.From the plains of mental mediocrity there occasionally rise the mountains of genius, and from the dead level of selfish respectability there stand out now and then the peaks of moral greatness. Neither kind of excellence is so common as we could wish it, and it is a rare coincidence when, as in Socrates, the two meet in the same individual. In Faraday we have a modern instance. There are persons now living who watched this man of strong will and intense feelings raising himself from the lower ranks of society, yet without losing his balance; rather growing in simplicity, disinterestedness, and humility, as princes became his correspondents and all the learned bodies of the world vied with each other to do him homage; still finding his greatest happiness at home, though reigning in the affections of all his fellows,—loving every honest man, however divergent in opinion, and loved most by those who knew him best.This is the phenomenon. By what theory is it to be accounted for?The secret did not lie in the nature of his pursuits. This cannot be better shown than in the following incident furnished me by Mrs. Crosse:—"One morning, a few months after we were married, my husband took me to the Royal Institution to call on Mr. and Mrs. Faraday. I had not seen the laboratory there, and the philosopher very kindly took us over the Institution, explaining for my information many objects of interest. His great vivacity and cheeriness of manner surprised me in a man who devoted his life to such abstruse studies, but I have since learnt to know that the highest philosophical nature is often, indeed generally, united with an almost childlike simplicity."After viewing the ample appliances for experimental research, and feeling impressed by the scientific atmosphere of the place, I turned and said, 'Mr. Faraday, you must be very happy in your position and with your pursuits, which elevate you entirely out of the meaner aspects and lower aims of common life.'"He shook his head, and with that wonderful mobility of countenance which was characteristic, his expression of joyousness changed to one of profound sadness, he replied: 'When I quitted business, and took to science as a career, I thought I had left behind me all the petty meannesses and small jealousies which hinder man in his moral progress; but I found myself raised into another sphere, only to find poor human nature just the same everywhere—subject to the same weaknesses and the same self-seeking, however exalted the intellect.'"These were his words as well as I can recollect; and, looking at that good and great man, I thought I had never seen a countenance which so impressed me with the characteristic of perfect unworldliness. We know how his life proved that this rare qualification was indeed his.""Childlike simplicity:" "unworldliness." Where was the tree rooted that bore such beautiful blossoms? Faraday had learnt in the school of Christ to become "a little child," and he loved not the world because the love of the Father was in him.We have a charming glimpse of this in an extract which Professor Tyndall has given from an old paper in which he wrote his impressions after one of his earliest dinners with the philosopher:—"At two o'clock he came down for me. He, his niece, and myself formed the party. 'I never give dinners,' he said; 'I don't know how to give dinners; and I never dine out. But I should not like my friends to attribute this to a wrong cause. I act thus for the sake of securing time for work, and not through religious motives as some imagine.' He said grace. I am almost ashamed to call his prayer a 'saying' of grace. In the language of Scripture, it might be described as the petition of a son into whose heart God had sent the Spirit of His Son, and who with absolute trust asked a blessing from his father. We dined on roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, and potatoes, drank sherry, talked of research and its requirements, and of his habit of keeping himself free from the distractions of society. He was bright and joyful—boylike, in fact, though he is now sixty-two. His work excites admiration, but contact with him warms and elevates the heart. Here, surely, is a strong man. I love strength, but let me not forget the example of its union with modesty, tenderness, and sweetness, in the character of Faraday."But his religion deserves a closer attention. When an errand-boy, we find him hurrying the delivery of his newspapers on a Sunday morning so as to get home in time tomake himself neat to go with his parents to chapel: his letters when abroad indicate the same disposition; yet he did not make any formal profession of his faith till a month after his marriage, when nearly thirty years of age. Of his spiritual history up to that period little is known, but there seem to be good grounds for believing that he did not accept the religion of his fathers without a conscientious inquiry into its truth. It would be difficult to conceive of his acting otherwise. But after he joined the Sandemanian Church, his questionings were probably confined to matters of practical duty; and to those who knew him best nothing could appear stronger than his conviction of the reality of the things he believed. In order to understand the life and character of Faraday, it is necessary to bear in mind not merely that he was a Christian, but that he was a Sandemanian. From his earliest years that religious system stamped its impress deeply on his mind, it surrounded the blacksmith's son with an atmosphere of unusual purity and refinement, it developed the unselfishness of his nature, and in his after career it fenced his life from the worldliness around, as well as from much that is esteemed as good by other Christian bodies. To this small self-contained sect he clung with warm attachment; he was precluded from Christian communion or work outside their circle, but his sympathies at least burst all narrow bounds. Thus the Abbé Moigno tells us that at Faraday's request he one day introduced him to Cardinal Wiseman. The interview was very cordial, and his Eminence did not hesitate frankly and good-naturedly to ask Faraday if, in his deepest conviction, he believed all the Church of Christ, holy, catholic, andapostolical, was shut up in the little sect in which he bore rule. "Oh no!" was the reply; "but I do believe from the bottom of my soul that Christ is with us." There were other points, too, in his character which reflected the colouring of the religious school to which he belonged. Thus, while humility is inseparable from a Christian life, there is a special phase of that virtue bred of those doctrines which teach that all our righteousness must be the unmerited gift of another: these doctrines are strongly insisted upon in the Sandemanian Church, and this humility was acquired in an intense degree by its minister. Again, while all Christians deplore the terrible amount of folly and sin in the world, most recognize also a large amount of good, and believe in progressive improvement; but small communities are apt to take gloomy views, and so did Faraday, notwithstanding his personal happiness, and his firm conviction that "there is One above who worketh in all things, and who governs even in the midst of that misrule to which the tendencies and powers of men are so easily perverted."In writing to Professor Schönbein and a few other kindred spirits he would turn naturally enough from scientific to religious thoughts, and back again to natural philosophy, but he generally kept these two departments of his mental activity strangely distinct; yet of course it was well known that the Professor at Albemarle Street was one of that long line of scientific men, beginning with thesavantsof the East, who have brought to the Redeemer the gold, frankincense, and myrrh of their adoration.But the peculiar features of Faraday's spiritual life are matters of minor importance: the genuineness of hisreligious character is acknowledged by all. We have admired his faithfulness, his amiability of disposition, and his love of justice and truth; how far these qualities were natural gifts, like his clearness of intellect, we cannot precisely tell; but that he exercised constant self-control without becoming hard, ascended the pathway of fame without ever losing his balance, and shed around himself a peculiar halo of love and joyousness, must be attributed in no small degree to a heart at peace with God, and to the consciousness of a higher life.
In the previous section we have traced the leading events of a life which was quietly and uniformly successful. We have watched the passage of the errand-boy into the philosopher, and we have seen how at first he begged for the meanest place in a scientific workshop, and at last declined the highest honour which British Science was capable of granting. His success did not lie in the amassing of money—he deliberately turned aside from the path of proffered wealth; nor did it lie in the attainment of social position and titles—he did not care for the weight of these. But if success consists in a life full of agreeable occupation, with the knowledge that its labours are adding to the happiness and wealth of the world, leading on to an old age full of honour, and the prospect of a blissful immortality,—then the highest success crowned the life of Faraday.
How did he obtain it? Not by inheritance, and not by the force of circumstances. The wealth or the reputation of fathers is often an invaluable starting-point for sons: a liberal education and the contact of superior minds inearly youth is often a mighty help to the young aspirant: the favour of powerful friends will often place on a vantage-ground the struggler in the battle of life. But Faraday had none of these. Accidental circumstances sometimes push a man forward, or give him a special advantage over his fellows; but Faraday had to make his circumstances, and to seize the small favours that fortune sometimes threw in his way. The secret of his success lay in the qualities of his mind.
It is only fair, however, to remark that he started with no disadvantages. There was no stain in the family history: he had no dead weight to carry, of a disgraced name, or of bad health, or deficient faculties, or hereditary tendencies to vice. It must be acknowledged, too, that he was endowed with a naturally clear understanding and an unusual power of looking below the surface of things.
The first element of success that we meet with in his biography is the faithfulness with which he did his work. This led the bookseller to take his poor errand-boy as an apprentice; and this enabled his father to write, when he was 18: "Michael is bookbinder and stationer, and is very active at learning his business. He has been most part of four years of his time out of seven. He has a very good master and mistress, and likes his place well. He had a hard time for some while at first going; but, as the old saying goes, he has rather got the head above water, as there is two other boys under him." This faithful industry marked also his relations with Davy and Brande, and the whole of his subsequent life; and at last, when he found that he could no longer discharge his duties, it made him repeatedly presshis resignation on the managers of the Royal Institution, and beg to be relieved of his eldership in the Church.
His love of study, and hunger after knowledge, led him to the particular career which he pursued, and that power of imagination, which reveals itself in his early letters, grew and grew, till it gave him such a familiarity with the unseen forces of nature as has never been vouchsafed to any other mortal.
As a source of success there stands out also his enthusiasm. A new fact seemed to charge him with an energy that gleamed from his eyes and quivered through his limbs, and, as by induction, charged for the time those in his presence with the same vigour of interest. Plücker, of Bonn, was showing him one day in the laboratory at Albemarle Street his experiments on the action of a magnet on the electric discharge in vacuum tubes. Faraday danced round them; and as he saw the moving arches of light, he cried, "Oh! to live in it!" Mr. James Heywood once met him in the thick of a tremendous storm at Eastbourne, rubbing his hands with delight because he had been fortunate enough to see the lightning strike the church tower, and displace a pinnacle.
This enthusiasm led him to throw all his heart into his work. Nor was the energy spasmodic, or wasted on unworthy objects; for, in the words of Bence Jones, his was "a lifelong lasting strife to seek and say that which he thought was true, and to do that which he thought was kind."
Indeed, his perseverance in a noble strife was another of the grand elements in his success. His tenacity of purposeshowed itself equally in little and in great things. Arranging some apparatus one day with a philosophical instrument maker, he let fall on the floor a small piece of glass: he made several ineffectual attempts to pick it up. "Never mind," said his companion, "it is not worth the trouble." "Well, but, Murray, I don't like to be beaten by something that I have once tried to do."
The same principle is apparent in that long series of electrical researches, where for a quarter of a century he marched steadily along that path of discovery into which he had been lured by the genius of Davy. And so, whatever course was set before him, he ran with patience towards the goal, not diverted by the thousand objects of interest which he passed by, nor stopping to pick up the golden apples that were flung before his feet.
This tremendous faculty of work was relieved by a wonderful playfulness. This rarely appears in his writings, but was very frequent in his social intercourse. It was a simple-hearted joyousness, the effervescence of a spirit at peace with God and man. It not seldom, however, assumed the form of good-natured banter or a practical joke. Indications of this playfulness have already been given, and I have tried to put upon paper some instances that occur to my own recollection, but the fun depended so much upon his manner, that it loses its aroma when separated from himself.
However, I will try one story. I was spending a night at an hotel at Ramsgate when on lighthouse business. Early in the morning there came a knock at the bed-room door, but, as I happened to be performing my ablutions, I cried,"Who's there?" "Guess." I went over the names of my brother commissioners, but heard only "No, no," till, not thinking of any other friend likely to hunt me up in that place, I left off guessing; and on opening the door I saw Faraday enjoying with a laugh my inability to recognize his voice through a deal board.
A student of the late Professor Daniell tells me that he remembers Faraday often coming into the lecture-room at King's College just when the Professor had finished and was explaining matters more fully to any of his pupils who chose to come down to the table. One day the subject discoursed on and illustrated had been sulphuretted hydrogen, and a little of the gas had escaped into the room, as it perversely will do. When Faraday entered he put on a look of astonishment, as though he had never smelt such a thing before, and in a comical manner said, "Ah! a savoury lecture, Daniell!" On another occasion there was a little ammonia left in a jar over mercury. He pressed Daniell to tell him what it was, and when the Professor had put his head down to see more clearly, he whiffed some of the pungent gas into his face.
Occasionally this humour was turned to good account, as when, one Friday evening before the lecture, he told the audience that he had been requested by the managers to mention two cases of infringement of rule. The first related to the red cord which marks off the members' seats. "The second case I take to be a hypothetical one, namely, that of a gentleman wearing his hat in the drawing-room." This produced a laugh, which the Professor joined in, bowed, and retired.
This faithful discharge of duty, this almost intuitive insight into natural phenomena, and this persevering enthusiasm in the pursuit of truth, might alone have secured a great position in the scientific world, but they alone could never have won for him that large inheritance of respect and love. His contemporaries might have gazed upon him with an interest and admiration akin to that with which he watched a thunderstorm; but who feels his affections drawn out towards a mere intellectual Jupiter? We must look deeper into his character to understand this. There is a law well recognized in the science of light and heat, that a body can absorb only the same sort of rays which it is capable of emitting. Just so is it in the moral world. The respect and love of his generation were given to Faraday because his own nature was full of love and respect for others.
Each of these qualities—his respect for and love to others, or, more generally, his reverence and kindliness—deserves careful examination.
Throughout his life, Michael Faraday appeared as though standing in a reverential attitude towards Nature, Man, and God.
Towards Nature, for he regarded the universe as a vast congeries of facts which would not bend to human theories. Speaking of his own early life, he says: "I was a very lively imaginative person, and could believe in the 'Arabian Nights' as easily as in the 'Encyclopædia;' but facts were important to me, and saved me. I could trust a fact, and always cross-examined an assertion." He was indeed a true disciple of that philosophy which says, "Man, who is theservant and interpreter of Nature, can act and understand no farther than he has, either in operation or in contemplation, observed of the method and order of Nature."[11]And verily Nature admitted her servant into her secret chambers, and showed him marvels to interpret to his fellow-men more wonderful and beautiful than the phantasmagoria of Eastern romance.
His reverence towards Man showed itself in the respect he uniformly paid to others and to himself. Thoroughly genuine and simple-hearted himself, he was wont to credit his fellow-men with high motives and good reasons. This was rather uncomfortable when one was conscious of no such merit, and I at least have felt ashamed in his presence of the poor commonplace grounds of my words and actions. To be in his company was in fact a moral tonic. As he had learned the difficult art of honouring all men, he was not likely to run after those whom the world counted great. "We must get Garibaldi to come some Friday evening," said a member of the Institution during the visit of the Italian hero to London. "Well, if Garibaldi thinks he can learn anything from us, we shall be happy to see him," was Faraday's reply. This nobility of regard not only preserved him from envying the success of other explorers in the same field, but led him heartily to rejoice with them in their discoveries.
Dumas gives us a picture of Foucault showing Faraday some of his admirable experiments, and of the two men looking at one another with eyes moistened, but full of bright expression, as they stood hand in hand, silentlythankful—the one for the pleasure he had experienced, the other for the honour that had been done him. He also tells how, on another occasion, he breakfasted at Albemarle Street, and during the meal Mr. Faraday made some eulogistic remarks upon Davy, which were coldly received by his guest. After breakfast, he was taken downstairs to the ante-room of the lecture theatre, when Faraday, walking up to the portrait of his old master, exclaimed, "Wasn't he a great man!" then turning round to the window next the entrance door, he added, "It was there that he spoke to me for the first time." The Frenchman bowed. They descended the stairs again to the laboratory. Faraday pulled out an old note-book, and turning over its pages showed where Davy had entered the means by which the first globule of potassium was produced, and had drawn a line round the description, with the words, "Capital experiment." The French chemist owned himself vanquished, and tells the tale in honour of him who remembered the greatness and forgot the littlenesses of his teacher.
And the respect he showed to others he required to be shown to himself. It is difficult to imagine anyone taking liberties with him, and it was only in early life that there were small-minded creatures who would treat him not according to what he was, but according to the position from which he had risen. His servants and workpeople were always attentive to the smallest expression of his wish. Still, he did not "go through his life with his elbows out." He once wrote to Matteucci: "I see that that moves you which would move me most, viz. the imputation of a want of good faith; and I cordially sympathize with anyonewho is so charged unjustly. Such cases have seemed to me almost the only ones for which it is worth while entering into controversy. I have felt myself not unfrequently misunderstood, often misrepresented, sometimes passed by, as in the cases of specific inductive capacity, magneto-electric currents, definite electrolytic action, &c. &c.: but it is only in the cases where moral turpitude has been implied, that I have felt called upon to enter on the subject in reply." Yet, where he felt that his honour was impugned, none could be more sensitive or more resolute.
This desire to clear himself, combined with his delicate regard for the feelings of others, struck me forcibly in the following incident. At Mr. Barlow's, one Friday evening after the discourse, two or three other chemists and myself were commenting unfavourably on a public act of Faraday, when suddenly he appeared beside us. I did not hesitate to tell him my opinion. He gave me a short answer, and joined others of the company. A few days afterwards he found me in the laboratory preparing for a lecture, and, without referring directly to what I had said, he gave me a full history of the transaction in such a way as to show that he could not have acted otherwise, and at the same time to render any apology on my part unnecessary.
Intimately connected with his respect for Man as well as reverence for truth, was the flash of his indignation against any injustice, and his hot anger against any whom he discovered to be pretenders. When, for instance, he had convinced himself that the reputed facts of table-turningand spiritualism were false, his severe denunciation of the whole thing followed as a matter of course.
Thus, too, a story is told of his once taking the side of the injured in a street quarrel by the pump in Savile Row. One evening also at my house, a young man who has since acquired a scientific renown was showing specimens of some new compounds he had made. A well-known chemist contemptuously objected that, after all, they were mere products of the laboratory: but Faraday came to the help of the young experimenter, and contended that they were chemical substances worthy of attention, just as much as though they occurred in nature.
His reverence for God was shown not merely by that homage which every religious man must pay to his Creator and Redeemer, but by the enfolding of the words of Scripture and similar expressions in such a robe of sacredness, that he rarely allowed them to pass his lips or flow from his pen, unless he was convinced of the full sympathy of the person with whom he was holding intercourse.
This characteristic reverence was united to an equally characteristic kindliness. This word does not exactly express the quality intended; but unselfishness is negative, goodness is too general, love is commonly used with special applications; kindness, friendship, geniality, and benevolence are only single aspects of the quality. Let the reader add these terms all together, and the resultant will be about what is meant.[12]
Faraday's love to children was one way in which this kindliness was shown. Having no children of his own, he surrounded himself usually with his nieces: we have already had a glimpse of him heartily entering into their play, and we are told how a word or two from Uncle would clear away all the trouble from a difficult lesson, that a long sum in arithmetic became a delight when he undertook to explain it, and that when the little girl was naughty and rebellious, he could gently win her round, telling her how he used to feel himself when he was young, and advising her to submit to the reproof she was fighting against. Nor were his own relatives the only sharers of his kindness. One friend cherishes among his earliest recollections, that of Faraday making for him a fly-cage and a paper purse, which had a real bright half-crown in it. When the present Mr. Baden Powell was a little fellow of thirteen, he used to give short lectures on chemistry in his father's house, and the philosopher of Albemarle Street liked to join the family audience, and would listen and applaud the experiments heartily. When one day my wife and I called on him with our children, he set them playing at hide-and-seek in the lecture theatre, and afterwards amused them upstairs with tuning-forks and resounding glasses. At asoiréeat Mr. Justice Grove's, he wanted to see the younger children of the family; so the eldest daughter brought down the little ones in their nightgowns to the foot of the stairs, and Faraday expressed his gratification with "Ah! that's the best thing you have done to-night." And when his faculties had nearly faded, it is remembered how the stroking of his hand by Mr. Vincent's little daughter quickened him again to bright and loving interest.
It would be easy to multiply illustrations of this kindliness in various relations of life.
Here is one of his own telling, where certainly the effect produced was not owing to any knowledge of how princely an intellect underlay the loving spirit. It is from a journal of his tour in Wales:—
"Tuesday, July 20th.—After dinner I set off on a ramble to Melincourt, a waterfall on the north side of the valley, and about six miles from our inn. Here I got a little damsel for my guide who could not speak a word of English. We, however, talked together all the way to the fall, though neither knew what the other said. I was delighted with her burst of pleasure as, on turning a corner, she first showed me the waterfall. Whilst I was admiring the scene, my little Welsh damsel was busy running about, even under the stream, gathering strawberries. On returning from the fall I gave her a shilling that I might enjoy her pleasure: she curtsied, and I perceived her delight. She again ran before me back to the village, but wished to step aside every now and then to pull strawberries. Every bramble she carefully moved out of the way, and ventured her bare feet to try stony paths, that she might find the safest for mine. I observed her as she ran before me, when she met a village companion, open her hand to show her prize, but without any stoppage, word, or other motion. When we returned to the village I bade her good-night, and she bade me farewell, both by her actions and, I have no doubt, her language too."
In a letter which Mr. Abel, the Director of the ChemicalDepartment of the War Establishment, has sent me, occur the following remarks:—
"Early in 1849 I was appointed, partly through the kind recommendation of Faraday, to instruct the senior cadets and a class of artillery officers in the Arsenal, in practical chemistry. On the occasion of my first attendance at Woolwich, when, having just reached manhood, I was about to deliver my first lecture as a recognized teacher, I was naturally nervous, and was therefore dismayed when on entering the class-room I perceived Faraday, who, having come to Woolwich, as usual, to prepare for his next morning's lecture at the Military Academy, had been prompted by his kindly feelings to lend me the support of his presence upon my first appearance among his old pupils. In a moment Faraday put me completely at my ease; he greeted me heartily, saying, 'Well, Abel, I have come to see whether I can assist you;' and suiting action to word, he bustled about, persisting in helping me in the arrangement of my lecture-tables,—and at the close of my demonstration he followed me from pupil to pupil, aiding each in his first attempt at manipulation, and evidently enjoying most heartily the self-imposed duty of assistant to his youngprotégé."
Another scientific friend, Mr. W. F. Barrett, writes:—"My first interview with Mr. Faraday ten years ago left an impression upon me I can never forget. Young student as I then was, thinking chiefly of present work and little of future prospects, and till then unknown to Mr. Faraday, judge of my feelings when, taking my hand in both of his, he said, 'I congratulate you upon choosing to be aphilosopher:it is an arduous life, but a noble and a glorious one. Work hard, and work carefully, and you will have success.' The sweet yet serious way he said this made the earnestness of work become a very vivid reality, and led me to doubt whether I had not dared to undertake too lofty a pursuit. After this Mr. Faraday never forgot to remember me in a number of thoughtful and delicate ways. He would ask me upstairs to his room to describe or show him the results of any little investigation I might have made: taking the greatest interest in it all, his pleasure would seem to equal and thus heighten mine, and then he would add words of kind suggestion and encouragement. In the same kindly spirit he has invited me to his house at Hampton Court, or would ask me to join him at supper after the Friday evening's lecture. His kindness is further shown by his giving me a volume of his researches on Chemistry and Physics, writing therein, 'From his friend Michael Faraday.' Those who live alone in London, unknown and uncared-for by any around them, can best appreciate these marks of attention which Mr. Faraday invariably showed, and not only to myself, but equally to my fellow-assistant in the chemical laboratory."
The following instance among many that might be quoted will illustrate his readiness to take trouble on behalf of others. When Dr. Noad was writing his "Manual of Electricity," a doubt crossed his mind as to whether Sir Snow Harris's unit jar gave a true measure of the quantity of electricity thrown into a Leyden jar: he asked Faraday, and his doubt was confirmed. Shortly afterwards he received a letter beginning thus:—
"My dear Sir,"Whilst looking over my papers on induction, I was reminded of our talk about Harris's unit jar, and recollected that I had given you a result just thereverseof my old conclusions, and, as I believe, of the truth. I think the jaris a true measure, so long as the circumstances of position, &c., are not altered; for its discharge and the quantity of electricity thus passed on depends on the constant relation of the balls connected with the inner and outer surface coating to each other, and is independent of their joint relation to the machine, battery, &c.... Perhaps I have not made my view clear, but next time we meet, remind me of the matter."Ever truly yours,"M. Faraday."
"My dear Sir,
"Whilst looking over my papers on induction, I was reminded of our talk about Harris's unit jar, and recollected that I had given you a result just thereverseof my old conclusions, and, as I believe, of the truth. I think the jaris a true measure, so long as the circumstances of position, &c., are not altered; for its discharge and the quantity of electricity thus passed on depends on the constant relation of the balls connected with the inner and outer surface coating to each other, and is independent of their joint relation to the machine, battery, &c.... Perhaps I have not made my view clear, but next time we meet, remind me of the matter.
"Ever truly yours,
"M. Faraday."
And just a week afterwards Dr. Noad received a second letter, surmounted by a neat drawing, and describing at great length experiments that the Professor had since made in order to place the matter beyond doubt.
And it was not merely for friends and brothersavantsthat he would take trouble. Old volumes of theMechanics' Magazinebear testimony to the way in which he was asked questions by people in all parts of the kingdom, and that he was accustomed to give painstaking answers to such letters.
"Do to others as you would wish them to do to you," was a precept often on his lips. But I have heard that he was sometimes charged with transgressing it himself, inasmuch as he took an amount of trouble for other peoplewhich he would have been greatly distressed if they had taken for him.
His charities were very numerous,—not to beggars; for them he had the Mendicity Society's tickets,—but to those whose need he knew. The porter of the Royal Institution has shown me, among his treasured memorials, a large number of forms for post-office orders, for sums varying from 5s.to 5l., which Faraday was in the habit of sending in that way to different recipients of his thoughtful bounty. Two or three instances have come to my knowledge of his having given more considerable sums of money—say 20l.—to persons who he thought would be benefited by them. In some instances the gift was called a loan, but he lent "not expecting again," and entered into the spirit of the injunction, "When thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth."
This principle was in fact stated in one of his letters to a friend: "As a case of distress I shall be very happy to help you as far as my means allow me in such cases; but then I never let my name go to such acts, and very rarely even the initials of my name." His contributions to the general funds of his Church were kept equally secret.
From all these circumstances, therefore, it is impossible to gauge the amount of his charitable gifts; but when it is remembered that for many years his income from different sources must have been 1,000l.or 1,200l., that he and Mrs. Faraday lived in a simple manner—comfortably, it is true, but not luxuriously—and that his whole income was disposed of in some way, there can be little doubt that his gifts amounted to several hundred pounds per annum.
But it was not in monetary gifts alone that his kindness to the distressed was shown. Time was spent as freely as money; and an engrossing scientific research would not be allowed to stand in the way of his succouring the sorrowful. Many persons have told me of his self-denying deeds on behalf of those who were ill, and of his encouraging words. He had indeed a heart ever ready to sympathize. Thus meeting once in the neighbourhood of Hampton Court an old friend who had retired there invalided and was being drawn about in a Bath chair, he is said to have burst into tears.
When eight years ago my wife and my only son were taken away together, and I lay ill of the same fatal disease, he called at my house, and in spite of remonstrances found his way into the infected chamber. He would have taken me by the hand if I had allowed him; and then he sat a while by my bedside, consoling me with his sympathy and cheering me with the Christian hope.
It is no wonder that this kindliness took the hearts of men captive; and this quality was, like mercy, "twice blessed; it blesseth him that gives, and him that takes." The feeling awakened in the minds of others by this kindliness was indeed a source of the purest pleasure to himself; trifling proofs of interest or love could easily move his thankfulness; and he richly enjoyed the appreciation of his scientific labours. This would often break forth in words. Thus in the middle of a letter to A. De la Rive, principally on scientific matters, he writes:—
"Do you remember one hot day, I cannot tell how many years ago, when I was hot and thirsty in Geneva,and you took me to your house in the town and gave me a glass of water and raspberry vinegar? That glass of drink is refreshing to me still."
Again: "Tyndall, the sweetest reward of my work is the sympathy and good-will which it has caused to flow in upon me from all quarters of the world."
But to estimate rightly this amiability of character, it must be distinctly remembered that it was not that superabundance of good-nature which renders some men incapable of holding their own, or rebuking what they know to be wrong. In proof of this his letters to the spiritualists might be quoted; but the following have not hitherto seen the light. They are addressed to two different parties whose inventions came officially before him.
"You write 'private' on the outside of your official communication, and 'confidential' within. I will take care to respect these instructions as far as falls within my duty; but I can have nothing private or confidentialas regards the Trinity House, which is my chief. Whatever opinion I send to them I must accompany with the papers you send me. If therefore you wish anything held back from them, send me another official answer, and I will return you the one I have, marked 'confidential.' Our correspondence is indeed likely to become a little irregular, because your papers have not come to me through the Trinity House. You will feel that I cannot communicate any opinion I may form to you: I am bound to the Trinity House, to whom I must communicate in confidence. I have no objection to your knowing my conclusions; but theTrinity Houseis the fit judge of the use it may make of them, orthe degree of confidence they may think they deserve, or the parties to whom they may choose to communicate them."
By a foot-note it appears that theprivate and confidentialcommunication was returned to the writer, by desire, four days afterwards.
"Sir,"I have received your note and read your pamphlet. There is nothing in either which makes it at all desirable to me to see your apparatus, for I have not time to spare to look at a matter two or three times over. In referring to ——, I suppose you refer also to his application to the Trinity House. In that case I shall hear from himthrough the Trinity House. He has, however, certain inquiries (which I have no doubt have gone to him long ago through the Trinity House) to answer before I shall think it necessary to take any further steps in the matter. With these, however, I suppose you have nothing to do."Are you aware that many years ago our Institution was lighted up for months, if not for years together, by oil-gas (or, as you call it, olefiant gas), compressed into cylinders to the extent of thirty atmospheres, and brought to us from a distance? I have no idea that the patent referred to at the bottom of page 9 could stand for an hour in a court of law. I think, too, you are wrong in misapplying the wordolefiant. It already belongs to a particular gas, and cannot, without confusion, be used as you use it."I am Sir,"Your obedient Servant,"M. Faraday."
"Sir,
"I have received your note and read your pamphlet. There is nothing in either which makes it at all desirable to me to see your apparatus, for I have not time to spare to look at a matter two or three times over. In referring to ——, I suppose you refer also to his application to the Trinity House. In that case I shall hear from himthrough the Trinity House. He has, however, certain inquiries (which I have no doubt have gone to him long ago through the Trinity House) to answer before I shall think it necessary to take any further steps in the matter. With these, however, I suppose you have nothing to do.
"Are you aware that many years ago our Institution was lighted up for months, if not for years together, by oil-gas (or, as you call it, olefiant gas), compressed into cylinders to the extent of thirty atmospheres, and brought to us from a distance? I have no idea that the patent referred to at the bottom of page 9 could stand for an hour in a court of law. I think, too, you are wrong in misapplying the wordolefiant. It already belongs to a particular gas, and cannot, without confusion, be used as you use it.
"I am Sir,
"Your obedient Servant,
"M. Faraday."
"Sir,"Thanks for your letter. At the close of it you ask meprivatelyand confidingly for the encouragement my opinion might give you ifthis powergas-light is fit for lighthouses. I am unable to assent to your request, as my position at the Trinity House requires that I should be able to take up any subject, applications, or documents they may bring before me in a perfectly unbiassed condition of mind."I am, Sir,"Yours very truly,"M. Faraday."
"Sir,
"Thanks for your letter. At the close of it you ask meprivatelyand confidingly for the encouragement my opinion might give you ifthis powergas-light is fit for lighthouses. I am unable to assent to your request, as my position at the Trinity House requires that I should be able to take up any subject, applications, or documents they may bring before me in a perfectly unbiassed condition of mind.
"I am, Sir,
"Yours very truly,
"M. Faraday."
The kindliness which shed its genial radiance on every worthy object around, glowed most warmly on the domestic hearth. Little expressions in his writings often reveal it, as when we read in his Swiss journal about Interlaken: "Clout-nail making goes on here rather considerably, and is a very neat and pretty operation to observe. I love a smith's shop, and anything relating to smithery. My father was a smith."
When he was sitting to Noble for his bust, it happened one day that the sculptor, in giving the finishing touches to the marble, made a clattering with his chisels: noticing that his sitter appeareddistrait, he said that he feared the jingling of the tools had annoyed him, and that he was weary. "No, my dear Mr. Noble," said Faraday, putting his hand on his shoulder, "but the noise reminded me of my father's anvil, and took me back to my boyhood."
This deep affection peeps out constantly in his letters to different members of his family, "bound up together," as he wrote to his sister-in-law, "in the one hope, and in faith and love which is in Jesus Christ." But it was towards hiswife that his love glowed most intensely. Yet how can we properly speak of this sacred relationship, especially as the mourning widow is still amongst us? It may suffice to catch the glimpse that is reflected in the following extract from a letter he wrote to Mrs. Andrew Crosse on the death of her husband:—
"July 12, 1855."... Believe that I sympathize with you most deeply, for I enjoy in my life-partner those things which you speak of as making you feel your loss so heavily."It is the kindly domestic affections, the worthiness, the mutual aid in sorrow, the mutual joy in happiness that has existed, which makes the rupture of such a tie as yours so heavy to bear; and yet you would not wish it otherwise, for the remembrance of those things brings solace with the grief. I speak, thinking what my own trouble would be if I lost my partner; and I try to comfort you in the only way in which I think I could be comforted."M. Faraday."
"July 12, 1855.
"... Believe that I sympathize with you most deeply, for I enjoy in my life-partner those things which you speak of as making you feel your loss so heavily.
"It is the kindly domestic affections, the worthiness, the mutual aid in sorrow, the mutual joy in happiness that has existed, which makes the rupture of such a tie as yours so heavy to bear; and yet you would not wish it otherwise, for the remembrance of those things brings solace with the grief. I speak, thinking what my own trouble would be if I lost my partner; and I try to comfort you in the only way in which I think I could be comforted.
"M. Faraday."
There was, as Tyndall has observed, a mixture of chivalry with this affection. In his book of diplomas he made the following remarkable entry:—
"25th January, 1847."Amongst these records and events, I here insert the date of one which, as a source of honour and happiness, far exceeds all the rest. We weremarriedon June 12, 1821."M. Faraday."
"25th January, 1847.
"Amongst these records and events, I here insert the date of one which, as a source of honour and happiness, far exceeds all the rest. We weremarriedon June 12, 1821.
"M. Faraday."
On the character of Faraday, these two qualities of reverence and kindliness have appeared to me singularly influential. Among the ways in which they manifested themselves was that beautiful combination of firmness and gentleness which has been frequently remarked: intimately associated with them also were his simplicity and truthfulness. These points must have made themselves evident already, but they deserve further illustration.
In his early days, "one Sabbath morning his swift and sober steps were carrying him along the Holborn pavement towards his meeting-house, when some small missile struck him smartly on the hat. He would have thought it an accident and passed on, when a second and a third rap caused him to turn and look just in time to perceive a face hastily withdrawn from a window in the upper story of a closed linendraper's establishment. Roused by the affront, he marched up to the door and rapped. The servant opening it said there was no one at home, but Faraday declared he knew better, and desired to be shown upstairs. Opposition still being made, he pushed on, made his way up through the house, opened the door of an upper room, discovering a party of young drapers' assistants, who at once professed they knew nothing of the motive of this sudden visit. But the hunter had now run his game to earth: he taxed them sharply with their annoyance of wayfarers on the Sabbath, and said that unless an apology were made at once, they should hear from their employer of something much to their disadvantage. An apology was made forthwith."[13]
Long, long after this event, Dr. and Mrs. Faraday, with Dr. Tyndall, were returning one evening from Mr. Gassiot's, on Clapham Common: a dense fog came on, and they did not know where they were. The two gentlemen got out of their vehicle, and walked to a house and knocked. A man appeared, first at a window and afterwards at the door, very angry indeed at the disturbance, and demanded to know their business. Faraday, in his calm, irresistible manner, explained the situation and their object in knocking. The man instantly changed his tone, looked foolish, and muttered something about being in a fright lest his house of business was on fire.
As to simplicity of character: when, in the course of writing this book, I have spoken to his acquaintances about Faraday, the most frequent comment has been in such words as, "Oh! he was a beautiful character, and so simple-minded." I have tried to ascertain the cause of this simple-mindedness, and I believe it was the consciousness that he was meaning to do right himself, and the belief that others whom he addressed meant to do right too, and so he could just let them see everything that was passing through his mind. And while he knew no reason for concealment, there was no trace of self-conceit about him, nor any pretence at being what he was not. To illustrate this quality is not so easy; the indications of it, like his humour, were generally too delicate to be transferred to paper; but perhaps the following letter will do as well as anything else, for there are few philosophers who could have written so naturally about the pleasures of a pantomime and then about his highest hopes:—
"Royal Institution, London, W."1st January, 1857."My dear Miss Coutts,"You are very kind to think of our pleasure and send us entrance to your box for to-morrow night. We thank you very sincerely, and I mean to enjoy it, for I still have a sympathy with children and all their thoughts and pleasure. Permit me to wish you very sincerely a happy year; and also to Mrs. Brown. With some of us our greatest happiness will be content mingled with patience; but there is much happiness in that and the expected end."Ever your obliged Servant,"M. Faraday."[14]
"Royal Institution, London, W.
"1st January, 1857.
"My dear Miss Coutts,
"You are very kind to think of our pleasure and send us entrance to your box for to-morrow night. We thank you very sincerely, and I mean to enjoy it, for I still have a sympathy with children and all their thoughts and pleasure. Permit me to wish you very sincerely a happy year; and also to Mrs. Brown. With some of us our greatest happiness will be content mingled with patience; but there is much happiness in that and the expected end.
"Ever your obliged Servant,
"M. Faraday."[14]
As to truthfulness: he was not only truthful in the common acceptation of the word, but he did not allow, either in himself or others, hasty conclusions, random assertions, or slippery logic. "At such times he had a way of repeating the suspicious statement very slowly and distinctly, with an air of wondering scrutiny as if it had astonished him. His irony was then irresistible, and always produced a modification of the objectionable phrase."
One Friday evening there was exhibited an improved Davy lamp, with an eulogistic description. Faraday added the words, "The opinion of the inventor."
"An acquaintance rather given to inflict tedious narratives on his friends was descanting to Faraday on the iniquity ofsome coachman who had set him down the previous night in the middle of a dark and miry road,—'in fact,' said the irksome drawler, 'in a perfect morass; and there I was, as you may imagine, half the night, plunging and struggling to get out of this dreadful morass.' 'More ass you!' rapped out the philosopher at the top of his scale of laughter." This was a rare instance, for it was only when much provoked that he would perpetrate a pun, or depart from the kind courtesy of his habitual talk.
That he was quite ready to give up a statement or view when it was proved by others to be incorrect, is shown by the Preface to the volumes in which are reprinted his "Experimental Researches." "In giving advice," says his niece Miss Reid, "he always went back to first principles, to the true right and wrong of questions, never allowing deviations from the simple straightforward path of duty to be justified by custom or precedent; and he judged himself strictly by the same rule which he laid down for others."
These beauties of character were not marred by serious defects or opposing faults. "He could not be too closely approached. There were no shabby places or ugly comers in his mind." Yet he was very far from being one of those passionless men who resemble a cold statue rather than throbbing flesh and blood. He was no "model of all the virtues," dreadfully uninteresting, and discouraging to those who feel such calm perfection out of their reach. His inner life was a battle, with its wounds as well as its victory. Proud by nature, and quick-tempered, he must have found the curb often necessary; but notwithstanding the rapidity of his actions and thoughts, he knew how tokeep a tight rein on that fiery spirit.
I have listened attentively to every remark in disparagement of Faraday's character, but the only serious ones have appeared to me to arise from a misunderstanding of the man, a misunderstanding the more easy because his standard of right and wrong, and of his own duty, often differed from the notions current around him. Still, it may be true that his extreme sensitiveness led him sometimes to do scant justice to those who, he imagined, were treading too closely in his own footsteps; as, for instance, when Nobili brought out some beautiful experiments on magnetism, just after the short notice of his own discoveries in 1831 which Faraday had sent to M. Hachette, and which was communicated to the Académie des Sciences. It is true also that, with his great caution and his repugnance to moral evil, he was more disposed to turn away in disgust from an erring companion than to endeavour to reclaim him. It has also been imputed to him as a fault that he founded no school, and took no young man by the hand as Davy had taken him. That this was rather his misfortune than his fault, would appear from words he once wrote to Miss Moore: "I have often endeavoured to discover a genius, but have not been very successful, though many cases seemed promising at first." The world would doubtless have been the gainer if he had stamped his own image on the minds of a group of disciples: but a man cannot do everything; and had Faraday been more of a teacher, he would perhaps have been less of an investigator.
Of course Faraday was subject, like other men, to errors of judgment, and it was impossible, even if desirable,always to avoid giving offence. Thus he was constantly pestered for his autograph; and instead of throwing the applications into his waste-paper basket, he had a formal circular lithographed excusing himself from complying. This offended more than one recipient; and he was roughly made aware of it by once having the circular returned from St. Louis with a scurrilous comment, and the postage from America not prepaid. He never again used the printed form, Miss Barnard undertaking to answer all such requests.
It has been previously remarked that Faraday took little part in social movements, and went little into society, but it must not be supposed that he was by any means unsocial. It seems probable that his freedom in this matter was somewhat hampered by the principles in which he had been brought up: it is certain that he was restrained by the desire to give all the time and energy he could to scientific research. Yet pleasant stories are told of his occasional appearances at social gatherings. Thus he liked to attend the Royal Academy dinners, and in earlier days he enjoyed the artistic and musicalconversazionesat Hullmandel's, where Stanfield Turner and Landseer met Garcia and Malibran; and sometimes he joined this pleasant company at supper and charades, at others in their excursions up the river in an eight-oared cutter. Captain Close has described to me how, when the French Lighthouse authorities put up the screw-pile light on the sands near Calais, they invited the Trinity House officers and Faraday to inspect it. A dinner was arranged for them after the inspection, and M. Reynaud proposed the health of theétranger célèbre. A young engineer took exception to Faraday being called astranger—since he had been at St. Cyr he had known the great Englishman well by his works. The Professor replied to the compliment in the language of his hosts, with a few of his happy and kindly remarks. A gentleman high in the diplomatic service, who was present, remarked that Faraday had said many things which were not French, but not a word which ought not to be so.
More unrestricted was Faraday's sympathy with Nature. He felt the poetry of the changing seasons, but there were two aspects of Nature that especially seemed to claim communion with his spirit: he delighted in a thunderstorm, and he experienced a pleasurable sadness as the orange sunset faded into the evening twilight. There are other minds to which both these sensations are familiar, but they seem to have been felt with great intensity by him. No doubt his electrical knowledge added much to his interest in the grand discharges from the thunder-clouds, but it will hardly account for his standing long at a window watching the vivid flashes, a stranger to fear, with his mind full of lofty thoughts, or perhaps of high communings. Sometimes, too, if the storm was at a little distance, he would summon a cab, and, in spite of the pelting rain, drive to the scene of awful beauty.
On a clear starry night Captain Close quoted to him the words of Lorenzo in the "Merchant of Venice:"—
... "Look, how the floor of heavenIs thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,But in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;Such harmony is in immortal souls;But, whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close us in, we cannot hear it."
... "Look, how the floor of heavenIs thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,But in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;Such harmony is in immortal souls;But, whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close us in, we cannot hear it."
... "Look, how the floor of heavenIs thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,But in his motion like an angel sings,Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;Such harmony is in immortal souls;But, whilst this muddy vesture of decayDoth grossly close us in, we cannot hear it."
... "Look, how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close us in, we cannot hear it."
Faraday, who happened not to be familiar with the passage, made his friend repeat it over and over again as he drank in the whole meaning of the poetry, for there is a true sense in which no other mortal had ever opened his ears so fully to the harmony of the universe.
From the plains of mental mediocrity there occasionally rise the mountains of genius, and from the dead level of selfish respectability there stand out now and then the peaks of moral greatness. Neither kind of excellence is so common as we could wish it, and it is a rare coincidence when, as in Socrates, the two meet in the same individual. In Faraday we have a modern instance. There are persons now living who watched this man of strong will and intense feelings raising himself from the lower ranks of society, yet without losing his balance; rather growing in simplicity, disinterestedness, and humility, as princes became his correspondents and all the learned bodies of the world vied with each other to do him homage; still finding his greatest happiness at home, though reigning in the affections of all his fellows,—loving every honest man, however divergent in opinion, and loved most by those who knew him best.
This is the phenomenon. By what theory is it to be accounted for?
The secret did not lie in the nature of his pursuits. This cannot be better shown than in the following incident furnished me by Mrs. Crosse:—"One morning, a few months after we were married, my husband took me to the Royal Institution to call on Mr. and Mrs. Faraday. I had not seen the laboratory there, and the philosopher very kindly took us over the Institution, explaining for my information many objects of interest. His great vivacity and cheeriness of manner surprised me in a man who devoted his life to such abstruse studies, but I have since learnt to know that the highest philosophical nature is often, indeed generally, united with an almost childlike simplicity.
"After viewing the ample appliances for experimental research, and feeling impressed by the scientific atmosphere of the place, I turned and said, 'Mr. Faraday, you must be very happy in your position and with your pursuits, which elevate you entirely out of the meaner aspects and lower aims of common life.'
"He shook his head, and with that wonderful mobility of countenance which was characteristic, his expression of joyousness changed to one of profound sadness, he replied: 'When I quitted business, and took to science as a career, I thought I had left behind me all the petty meannesses and small jealousies which hinder man in his moral progress; but I found myself raised into another sphere, only to find poor human nature just the same everywhere—subject to the same weaknesses and the same self-seeking, however exalted the intellect.'
"These were his words as well as I can recollect; and, looking at that good and great man, I thought I had never seen a countenance which so impressed me with the characteristic of perfect unworldliness. We know how his life proved that this rare qualification was indeed his."
"Childlike simplicity:" "unworldliness." Where was the tree rooted that bore such beautiful blossoms? Faraday had learnt in the school of Christ to become "a little child," and he loved not the world because the love of the Father was in him.
We have a charming glimpse of this in an extract which Professor Tyndall has given from an old paper in which he wrote his impressions after one of his earliest dinners with the philosopher:—"At two o'clock he came down for me. He, his niece, and myself formed the party. 'I never give dinners,' he said; 'I don't know how to give dinners; and I never dine out. But I should not like my friends to attribute this to a wrong cause. I act thus for the sake of securing time for work, and not through religious motives as some imagine.' He said grace. I am almost ashamed to call his prayer a 'saying' of grace. In the language of Scripture, it might be described as the petition of a son into whose heart God had sent the Spirit of His Son, and who with absolute trust asked a blessing from his father. We dined on roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, and potatoes, drank sherry, talked of research and its requirements, and of his habit of keeping himself free from the distractions of society. He was bright and joyful—boylike, in fact, though he is now sixty-two. His work excites admiration, but contact with him warms and elevates the heart. Here, surely, is a strong man. I love strength, but let me not forget the example of its union with modesty, tenderness, and sweetness, in the character of Faraday."
But his religion deserves a closer attention. When an errand-boy, we find him hurrying the delivery of his newspapers on a Sunday morning so as to get home in time tomake himself neat to go with his parents to chapel: his letters when abroad indicate the same disposition; yet he did not make any formal profession of his faith till a month after his marriage, when nearly thirty years of age. Of his spiritual history up to that period little is known, but there seem to be good grounds for believing that he did not accept the religion of his fathers without a conscientious inquiry into its truth. It would be difficult to conceive of his acting otherwise. But after he joined the Sandemanian Church, his questionings were probably confined to matters of practical duty; and to those who knew him best nothing could appear stronger than his conviction of the reality of the things he believed. In order to understand the life and character of Faraday, it is necessary to bear in mind not merely that he was a Christian, but that he was a Sandemanian. From his earliest years that religious system stamped its impress deeply on his mind, it surrounded the blacksmith's son with an atmosphere of unusual purity and refinement, it developed the unselfishness of his nature, and in his after career it fenced his life from the worldliness around, as well as from much that is esteemed as good by other Christian bodies. To this small self-contained sect he clung with warm attachment; he was precluded from Christian communion or work outside their circle, but his sympathies at least burst all narrow bounds. Thus the Abbé Moigno tells us that at Faraday's request he one day introduced him to Cardinal Wiseman. The interview was very cordial, and his Eminence did not hesitate frankly and good-naturedly to ask Faraday if, in his deepest conviction, he believed all the Church of Christ, holy, catholic, andapostolical, was shut up in the little sect in which he bore rule. "Oh no!" was the reply; "but I do believe from the bottom of my soul that Christ is with us." There were other points, too, in his character which reflected the colouring of the religious school to which he belonged. Thus, while humility is inseparable from a Christian life, there is a special phase of that virtue bred of those doctrines which teach that all our righteousness must be the unmerited gift of another: these doctrines are strongly insisted upon in the Sandemanian Church, and this humility was acquired in an intense degree by its minister. Again, while all Christians deplore the terrible amount of folly and sin in the world, most recognize also a large amount of good, and believe in progressive improvement; but small communities are apt to take gloomy views, and so did Faraday, notwithstanding his personal happiness, and his firm conviction that "there is One above who worketh in all things, and who governs even in the midst of that misrule to which the tendencies and powers of men are so easily perverted."
In writing to Professor Schönbein and a few other kindred spirits he would turn naturally enough from scientific to religious thoughts, and back again to natural philosophy, but he generally kept these two departments of his mental activity strangely distinct; yet of course it was well known that the Professor at Albemarle Street was one of that long line of scientific men, beginning with thesavantsof the East, who have brought to the Redeemer the gold, frankincense, and myrrh of their adoration.
But the peculiar features of Faraday's spiritual life are matters of minor importance: the genuineness of hisreligious character is acknowledged by all. We have admired his faithfulness, his amiability of disposition, and his love of justice and truth; how far these qualities were natural gifts, like his clearness of intellect, we cannot precisely tell; but that he exercised constant self-control without becoming hard, ascended the pathway of fame without ever losing his balance, and shed around himself a peculiar halo of love and joyousness, must be attributed in no small degree to a heart at peace with God, and to the consciousness of a higher life.