“Within the ground all life doth first have birth,Richly the tree unfolds its leafy pride,Yet in the earth’s dark night its germ must hide,And downward still the root strikes into earth.And that this house may reach its highest worth,The master now, with wisdom for his guide,In the firm soil lays the foundations wide,That he may bind it firmly with the earth.Yet is thereonefirm ground where build we must,On which our house’s peace we gladly found,That still its sacred hearth with joy be filled;This is fixed faith in God and happy trust,With which forever love and hope are bound,And thus a temple with the house we build.”
“Within the ground all life doth first have birth,Richly the tree unfolds its leafy pride,Yet in the earth’s dark night its germ must hide,And downward still the root strikes into earth.And that this house may reach its highest worth,The master now, with wisdom for his guide,In the firm soil lays the foundations wide,That he may bind it firmly with the earth.Yet is thereonefirm ground where build we must,On which our house’s peace we gladly found,That still its sacred hearth with joy be filled;This is fixed faith in God and happy trust,With which forever love and hope are bound,And thus a temple with the house we build.”
“Within the ground all life doth first have birth,Richly the tree unfolds its leafy pride,Yet in the earth’s dark night its germ must hide,And downward still the root strikes into earth.
And that this house may reach its highest worth,The master now, with wisdom for his guide,In the firm soil lays the foundations wide,That he may bind it firmly with the earth.
Yet is thereonefirm ground where build we must,On which our house’s peace we gladly found,That still its sacred hearth with joy be filled;
This is fixed faith in God and happy trust,With which forever love and hope are bound,And thus a temple with the house we build.”
Lepsius had intentionally caused the corner stone to be laid where the living room of the mistress of the house was afterwards to be raised, and in his dedicatory speech he explained his motives for this in beautiful words. The house when finished had a fine and stately appearance, with its Gothic arches over doors and windows, its battlements on tower and roof, its handsome entrance, its covered piazza on the ground floor, and open balcony on the upper story, and its inscriptions in carved stone.
When it was ready for habitation, Abeken, the former divine, added the following second sonnet to the first:
That here the temple with the house should blendOn the foundation stone we wrote, and lo!Sank it far underfoot, that even soThe darkling earth its strength to us might lend.Yet must from Heaven the mighty power descendThat upward bids the earthly germ to grow,And Life and Love must still from Heaven flow,The sacred fire on the hearth to tend.Therefore we lift our hands and hearts to Heaven,And humbly here its blessing we await,Praying for peace and safety as is due,That Love and Light and Spirit may be givenOur handiwork henceforth to consecrate,That this the home may be a temple true!
That here the temple with the house should blendOn the foundation stone we wrote, and lo!Sank it far underfoot, that even soThe darkling earth its strength to us might lend.Yet must from Heaven the mighty power descendThat upward bids the earthly germ to grow,And Life and Love must still from Heaven flow,The sacred fire on the hearth to tend.Therefore we lift our hands and hearts to Heaven,And humbly here its blessing we await,Praying for peace and safety as is due,That Love and Light and Spirit may be givenOur handiwork henceforth to consecrate,That this the home may be a temple true!
That here the temple with the house should blendOn the foundation stone we wrote, and lo!Sank it far underfoot, that even soThe darkling earth its strength to us might lend.
Yet must from Heaven the mighty power descendThat upward bids the earthly germ to grow,And Life and Love must still from Heaven flow,The sacred fire on the hearth to tend.
Therefore we lift our hands and hearts to Heaven,And humbly here its blessing we await,Praying for peace and safety as is due,
That Love and Light and Spirit may be givenOur handiwork henceforth to consecrate,That this the home may be a temple true!
On the twelfth of July, 1856, Lepsius with his own hand wrote the following maxims in a new diary of his wife’s.
God’s peace from HeavenTo this house be given.Unless God’s grace we gainOur building is in vain.Within this little book be youTo these, our house’s mottoes, true.
God’s peace from HeavenTo this house be given.Unless God’s grace we gainOur building is in vain.Within this little book be youTo these, our house’s mottoes, true.
God’s peace from HeavenTo this house be given.
Unless God’s grace we gainOur building is in vain.
Within this little book be youTo these, our house’s mottoes, true.
The second motto was cut in stone, in Gothic letters and surrounded by arabesques, over the broad projecting window of the wife’s room, on the side of the building towards the street; the first was over the front door. The palms over the entrance gate were intended to call to memory the Palm Sunday onwhich Lepsius and his wife had been betrothed. The wish expressed in the first motto was fulfilled, for the house in Bendler Street was truly a temple of peace, under the visible favor of God. Until the growing city of Berlin laid claim to the broad extent of the beautiful garden and Lepsius felt himself forced to sell it, their house was the home of true love, intimate family life, steadfast reverence for God—in the man no less than in the wife,—and earnest, unwearied labor, as well as cheerful song and music, and a happy hospitality.
The father of Lepsius died before the house was completed, but he was able to invite his mother to come and live with him “at Berlin, in the country.” However, the beautiful outlook “towards the canal and Schöneberg” was soon built up. The house was constructed in the English Gothic style, which he had learned to like in Great Britain, and which few understood as well as he (see page 131). To his delight, its pleasing appearance, with the slightly-pointed arches over windows and doors, and the balcony, with its Gothic parapet of sandstone, proved so attractive that, as he wrote to his mother: “our neighbor has also built in the Gothic style, and, indeed, two houses at once.” “I am to assist him with money,” he continued, “for the third, on the corner, and the man on the other corner will also build a Gothic house. That makes a whole Gothic quarter.”
But how differently things turned out! The stately building which was to have been a home for remotedescendants has vanished from the earth, and only a few traces remain of the Bendler Street Gothic. During the first years after they moved into the new house they improved every opportunity which offered to exhibit the beauty of the chosen style of architecture. When for example it was necessary, on account of any festivity, to “illuminate,” they lit up the whole front, and especially the large balcony, with little lamps which followed the lines of the arches.
The fine garden gave special pleasure to Lepsius. After he had had tea at his writing table he always took a walk there, in winter as well as in summer, and whether the weather was good or bad. He felt a “special interest in it, and knew it all by heart.” The trees which soon overshadowed it had been planted on various happy occasions by dear guests and friends of the household, in memory of the delightful hours which they had passed under the roof of Lepsius, and as a visible symbol and token of the friendship which burgeoned and blossomed anew with each year. Alexander von Humboldt, Bunsen, the Grimms, Ehrenberg, E. Curtius and many others had planted their trees, and on each was a little tablet which bore the name of him who had set it in the earth. Foreign friends too, who could not come to Berlin and attend to the planting themselves, sent small trees to be set out. For example, the Director of the museum at Leyden, already mentioned several times, (see pages 123 and 245) sent a variety ofBetulawhich had been named after himBetula Lemansiana, by a nursery gardener at Warmond. As the trees which he first sent did not arrive he despatched others, and these throve and long reminded the Lepsius family of their Dutch friend. The garden was a living and shady temple of friendship, and what beautiful festivals were celebrated there!
Plays and spectacular performances were often given in the fine spacious apartments of this house on the birthday of the head of the family, which occurred shortly before Christmas. They were distinguished by the same thoughtful intelligence which had given rise to the tree-planting and laid the corner stone under the living-room of the mistress of the house. The ideas were usually furnished by Frau Elizabeth. Thus a fable was once represented, interspersed withtableaux vivants, which the children and their little friends undertook to produce. The subject was the standard alphabet (see page 104) of their father, which was personified as Miss Alphabeta Standarda, and represented in the different stages of its development. The dialogue was both sprightly and well written, in the best style of fable, and seasoned with many merry and satirical allusions. At one time there weretableaux vivantsafter antique personages and the pictures of Flaxman, and then again the trees from the garden made their appearance. Before this, the treasure-house of Rhampsinitus had been represented according to Platen. Similar performances, always original, thoughtful, and excellently executed in detail, delighted the guests, the children who usually had to take part in them, and especially the host himself. When a ballwas given, too, they never failed to have particularly pretty and original cotillion figures, for which the poet and faithful friend of the family, Abeken, composed the verses.
On July the fourteenth, 1857, the third boy was born, and at his baptism on the second of August, he received the name of Reinhold. He was named after the brother who had never been forgotten, and who had expired in Rome, when twenty-nine years old, in the arms of the godfather.
In September of the same year the Lepsiuses had the great pleasure of welcoming Bunsen for the first time in their own house. He had been invited by Frederick William IV. to take part in the assembly of the “Evangelical Alliance” which met at Berlin. The King had indeed dropped him as a statesman, but the letter of invitation which he sent to Heidelberg, where the former ambassador then lived, was as cordial and urgent as if the monarch had preserved his old friendship for him whom he had “deserted.” Bunsen must come, wrote the King, firstly on account of the business itself, secondly for the sake of his own (Bunsen’s) renown, and thirdly to please the King. The latter wrote with great enthusiasm of the “Alliance.” Finally, he added most cordially that Bunsen must not refuse to let an old friend be his host and care for his journey there and back and his entertainment in the palace. On Bunsen’s arrival the King embraced him before the whole court, but only sent for him once afterwards to converse with him. The Camarilla hated theman of independent thought, and the King had already accustomed himself to submit to it.
But on the other hand, Lepsius’ delight at receiving his revered patron and fatherly friend in his own home, and showing him his house, was unbounded, and as great as it was heartfelt. “On Sunday,” (September thirteenth, ’57), writes Frau Elizabeth, “Bunsen was as lovely and splendid as ever. At table he proposed our healths, with a little speech, in which he first expressed his delight at being once more in Berlin, where he had believed he could never come again, and whither he had now been summoned in so honorable a manner that he could return with pleasure. But to find us so agreeably and excellently settled was one of the brightest spots of his sojourn here. In the most sincere and heartfelt manner he expressed his happiness in our family fortunes, and wished that God would still continue to bless us, and that; ‘Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine, thy children like olive-plants round about thy table.’ He reminded us, too, that his friendship with Lepsius had now lasted for more than twenty years, that he loved him like a son; indeed the dear man even included me (Frau Elizabeth) in the circle of his affections; ‘I love you like my own children.’
“How warmly and deeply were we touched by this speech, of which I have here repeated only an imperfect fragment! If it were possible, I should be fonder than ever of Bunsen. Where else, in a man of such distinction, can one find such warmth and cordiality of feeling, such sincere and faithful friendship?”
Every leisure hour was spent by Bunsen in the Lepsius’ house, which at this time was the scene of a great celebration. This was arranged in honor of the beloved and revered guest, and some of the most distinguished members of the Alliance were invited to be present at it. It is not necessary to say how pleasant it must have been to the scholarly statesman to find assembled here Ehrenberg and Gerhard, J. Grimm, whom he had not previously known, and with whom he conversed at length, Pertz, Peters, Pinder, Geffken, Schelling, Stüler, Olfers, Abeken, the former chaplain of his embassy, General Superintendent Hoffman, Dr. Barth, the divine from Würtemberg, and many other leading men in science and in the evangelical church. Lepsius was especially delighted just at that time by once more meeting Lobstein, who had first invited him in Bunsen’s name to take up the study of Egyptology, and who had since become French ambassador to Sweden.
The members of the Alliance had assembled from all parts of the world. They met in Berlin, held sessions, and listened to many orators, but the great results which had been anticipated from this congress failed to manifest themselves, or were dissipated in smoke; indeed, shortly before its close the stamp of absurdity was set upon it by Krummacher of Westphalia, who was a strictly orthodox pastor and the cousin of the Berlin minister. At the last meeting but one this zealot openly, and in a spirit of denunciation, expressed his regret that the famous French preacher, Merled’Aubigné, had, on the steps of the railway station, embraced and kissed a man whose rationalism and Romanism must be a terror to the assembly. The man thus proscribed was no less a person than Bunsen. Unfortunately this absurd attack was not disregarded, but called forth a most unpleasant controversy.
After these days of excitement life went on in its accustomed course for the Lepsius household. The hours of leisure were agreeably spent in the favorite diversions of the husband, boccia in the garden, and chess in the house. New guests were added to the old. Among them were Wichern the founder of the “reformatory for vagrant children” at Hamburg, whose efforts filled Frau Elizabeth with enthusiasm, von Putlitz the poet, and the charming Erdmann from Halle, who seasoned many a meal for them with his delightful humor. Humboldt, too, came occasionally, and told them much of the mournful condition of the King. The former was once conversing on serious scientific subjects, and with the entire concurrence of the monarch, but when Potsdam was spoken of, although he was staying there at that time, the unhappy sovereign could not remember where the place was. At this time, (1852), Lepsius presented his Book of Kings, which was then completed, to the Prince of Prussia, (our Emperor.) The latter showed himself full of interest in it, and after this audience the author said he had been especially struck by the quiet, simple, benevolent nature of the Prince, in contrast to the intellectually active, restless character of the King.
Mommsen had been summoned to Berlin in 1857, and enjoyed meeting the family of Lepsius, but with regard to scientific, and especially chronological, questions, there was many a dispute between these two great scholars.
Lepsius worked much in the garden for the sake of his health, and whatever this plot of ground yielded, in the way of vegetables, fruit, eggs and milk, (they kept chickens and a cow of their own), was named Hathor-cabbage, Hathor-apples, etc. Hermann Grimm had given this name to the special products of his friend’s place, and thus recalled the great goddess who at Dendera was styled the “dispenser of all the goods of life,” and to whom, as the feminine principle in nature, pertained all the gifts which furnish sustenance and pleasure to man.
In 1858 the brothers Schlagintweit also returned from their successful journey through Asia. They came to Berlin, and wished to sell their collections there, but many things were unfavorable to this project, and, altogether, they met with no good fortune in the Prussian capital. Frau Lepsius relates that they had succeeded in bringing a white ass from the Himalayas to Berlin, in good health and lively. When he arrived his transport had already cost two thousand thalers. It was necessary to take him from the railway station to the zoological garden; but in going through Potsdam Street he became refractory, and would not follow his leader any farther. They put a rope around his neck, to pull him forwards by force,and the consequence was that the white ass from the Himalayas choked, and met with an unforeseen death at Berlin in Potsdam Street.
During the latter part of the summer of 1858 the family again stayed at Ilsenburg in the Hartz, and in December of the same year Frau Elizabeth presented her husband with the fourth and last boy. He received the name of Richard Ernest John, and amongst the godfathers was the faithful college comrade of the head of the family, A. Kreiss,[99]at that time a minister at Strasburg, as well as E. Curtius, “our splendid, ideal friend.” After the christening Frau Elizabeth wrote: “May his name John ever remind me that it is my great and sacred task to rear him to be a true John; one who loves his Lord and follows in his footsteps.” This John has now became a divine, after having produced several promising first works as a philosopher and student of æsthetics.
In April, 1859, Lepsius traveled to Munich, for the centennial anniversary of the Academy, and there made the acquaintance of the excellent Thiersch, J. v. Liebig, Riehl, E. Geibel and other scholars and artists. He spent much time with his old friend, the celebrated architect, v. Klenze, and he also visited Kaulbach in his studio. In the summer of 1859 Lepsius refreshed himself by an excursion to Rügen with his friend Wiese, and late in the autumn he took a trip with his wife and the oldest little girl to Saxon Switzerland and Dresden, where they also made the acquaintance ofSchnorr von Karolsfeld. “I looked up,” wrote Frau Elizabeth, “with a sort of devotion, to the old and thin but fine and intellectually vivid face of this man, whose compositions express such deep and fervent Christian feeling.” We also learn here that the famous little castle of Souchay at Loschwitz on the Elbe is an enlarged copy of the Lepsius house, which had especially pleased the owner of the castle and his architect Arnold, in Berlin, whither they had gone to investigate the different styles of house-building.
Lepsius and his wife were deeply distressed by the death of Alexander v. Humboldt, on May sixth, 1859, but in the following months they encountered other losses by death which were still harder to bear. Soon after their return home Jonas, the faithful, large-hearted pastor of the household, died, and his departure filled the family with grief. Among those who knew him, and his truly admirable, profound and infinitely lovable character, his memory must long be cherished for the candor and courage with which, by words and actions, he defended the freedom of religious conviction during the darkest days of church life in Prussia. But yet another and more painful loss was ordained for the family, for on the twenty-eighth of November, 1860, died Bunsen, the man to whom Lepsius was most deeply indebted, and to whom he had clung with the love of a son. Also on the third of January, 1861, Frederick William IV. died, and the reverential words respecting him with which the wife filled many pages of her diary, are to be considered asan echo of the feelings with which the husband regarded this king, whose weaknesses he could not overlook but whose great qualities he was glad to exalt in order to give them grateful praise.
Among the old friends of the family were the Pinders and Partheys, Erbkam, the Grimms, Trendelenburgs, Brandis, Olshausens, v. Sybel, Beselers, Geffken, Duncker, v. Tiele, who was afterwards Assistant Secretary of State, George v. Bunsen, the Wilmowskis, Count Usedom, and the witty Strauss, who had traveled through Palestine, Wichern, Meyer von Rinteln, the amiable Mrs. Curtis, with whom we ourselves were well acquainted, the publisher Hertz, Count Schlieffen, Weidenbach, the Homeyers, the Balans and Salpius, the Wieses, the two married couples of Peters and Drakes, the traveler Robinson, Weiss, and so on. To these was added Droysen, who had received an appointment at Berlin in 1859. But the highest place among them all was held by “Uncle Abeken.” There is some ludicrous association with this able man, on account of the passages regarding him which appear in Busch’s interesting book on “Count Bismarck and His People.” But Frau Elizabeth’s diary shows us that he had a deep and faithful nature, that his quick intelligence apprehended and appreciated the poetical aspect of every incident in life, that he was a good adviser and ready in that capacity to render every service, and also an indefatigable worker. Where duty demanded it he knew how to keep silence as few men do, though he was of a communicative disposition, and had madehimself so at home in every department of science that Lepsius counted him one of the most learned men of his time. If he was questioned about political affairs, such as the restoration of the constitution of 1831 in Hesse, the preparation of which had devolved upon him, his only answer was: “I have not read the papers to-day.” He had been no less faithful to the Bunsens than to the Lepsiuses, and his little failings will be willingly overlooked by any one who knows with what steadfast courage he stayed by the ambassador’s wife at Rome during the worst cholera season, and what sacrifices he was ready to make for his friends in case of need. One whom Prince Bismarck so trusted could be no insignificant man. That in him which provoked a smile was chiefly his low stature, his manner, which was sometimes immoderately vivacious, and that sentimentality which even to Frau Bunsen was not always agreeable. Nevertheless this distinguished lady esteemed him very highly, though she occasionally begged him to write her less about his feelings and more about facts. But at least this sentimentality had nothing artificial about it. It sprang from an ardent spirit, which was perhaps only too tender and impressible.—As long as he taught at Göttingen, the favorite guest of the Lepsiuses was E. Curtius, and his recall to Berlin afforded the greatest happiness to that household. Max Müller too, when he came from Oxford, was received with open arms, and the attachment which Lepsius felt to him, may be discerned from the journal of his wife, as well as from his letters to Bunsen. Amongst their younger friends George v. Bunsen had best known how to win the hearts of the family.
Frau Elizabeth superintended the details of the children’s education with the greatest care and affection, and in so doing often fatigued herself to the point of exhaustion. The father directed the plan according to which he desired the training of the boys to be conducted, but it was only in questions of moment that he interposed and gave his decision. Two ladies who were sisters of Hofmeyer the family physician, and who had at one time conducted the principal school for young ladies in Berlin, told Frau Lepsius at Easter, 1862, of a twelve year old orphan, of English descent and good family, who was alone in the world and entirely unprovided for. Frau Lepsius immediately declared her willingness to adopt her, and receive her as a seventh child among her own six. Her husband quickly consented, and they never regretted this kind act, for, to their delight, Ellen grew up to be a lovely young girl. She was always treated in every respect like one of the daughters of the house, and, like them, she long since married.
After the accession of King William, Lepsius continued to observe the course of politics attentively, and never neglected any of the duties of a citizen. In 1862 he was chosen as an elector of the first electoral class for his district, and by the conservatives, although he in no wise approved of their efforts. His views coincided with those of the party which at that time wascalled “Old Liberal.” His friend, Meyer von Rinteln, stood well at court, and was full of court anecdotes. He once told how the Elector of Hesse had got in a passion, and hurt himself so seriously by giving his valet a thrashing, that he had been obliged to keep his bed. Thereupon Herman Grimm improvised the following riddle.
“Had my whole been truly my second, he certainly would not have beenObliged to seek my first in bed, as we have recently seen.”[100]
“Had my whole been truly my second, he certainly would not have beenObliged to seek my first in bed, as we have recently seen.”[100]
“Had my whole been truly my second, he certainly would not have beenObliged to seek my first in bed, as we have recently seen.”[100]
Queen Augusta, Meyer reported, had correctly guessed “Kurfürst.”
Meyer was also a very talented poet, and he once read his tragedy of “German Youth” at Lepsius’ home, in the presence of General v. Willisen, who had had to oversee the Prussian execution at Hesse. The tendency of the play was to show that only under the Prussian imperial rule could Germany obtain tranquility, peace and new power. Frau Lepsius had long before confided the same thought to her diary, and Willisen agreed with it warmly.
The wife was as fond of traveling as the husband, but during the first half of the summer he was kept at home by his duties as professor, and she by her interest in their own beautiful garden, and in the education of the children. By midsummer Berlin became unendurable to them both, and they were accustomedto leave home usually in July with the children, who then had their holidays. In the autumn of 1863 they took a longer journey, to Cologne and the Swiss Rhine, with their elder daughter Anna and Uncle Abeken. Shortly before the master of the house commenced his lectures they returned to Berlin, where their delightful social life began anew. Frau Elizabeth suffered from many physical ailments, especially “tic douloureux,” and had also assumed an almost oppressive number of domestic, pedagogic, social and benevolent duties. When she felt greatly in need of refreshment she retreated for a few days to Sacrow, a pretty and charmingly situated little village on the Havel near Potsdam, and on returning home she would resume with renewed strength the labors which awaited her.
After the death of Jonas, the family pastor was first Snethlage, who was then growing old, and afterwards the vigorous and manly Court Chaplain Kögel. In spite of his tendency to greater strictness, this latter entirely filled the place to Frau Lepsius of the deceased friend whom she so deeply lamented. After one of his sermons (1865) she wrote in the diary: “To be able to preach like Kögel! I should think that the highest earthly happiness. What a blessing for us!”
On the twenty-eighth of February, 1866, Lepsius started on his second journey to Egypt, the details of which are given on page 201. He was alone except for the faithful draughtsman Weidenbach. While he was on the way, Uncle Abeken became engaged to,and subsequently married, Fraulein Helene von Olfers, a daughter of the Director of the museum. The fear lest the old friend of the house should change proved unfounded, for as a married man he still preserved his old friendship for the Lepsiuses.
The master of the house returned home sooner than he had been expected. He had given up the journey to upper Egypt for several reasons, chief among which was the great inundation of the Nile. He was met at Berlin by the clang of arms. A civil war appeared inevitable, and Bismarck was as little of a favorite in Bendler street as in other constitutional circles of the country, though the sagacity of Lepsius and the information derived from Abeken, who always regarded his chief with fervent admiration, had caused the Lepsiuses to repose great confidence in him. At court, too, he had many more bitter opponents and enemies than friends, and when, shortly before the war, Bismarck injured his foot, a gentleman who held a situation near the Queen uttered the pointedbon-mots, “His foot hurts him because he has gone too far,” and “The cloven hoof is showing.”
But never did the feeling of a nation towards a great man undergo such a sudden, universal and complete revolution as that towards Bismarck during the short months of the war of 1866. At that time Frau Lepsius, with the ardent enthusiasm peculiar to herself and with the assistance of her daughters, made herself most useful in the Hospital Association and still more in the Elizabeth Hospital. The diary records the preliminaries of peace with anxious interest, and contains the following anecdote, perhaps from the mouth of Abeken: “At the negotiations for peace Benedetti began to speak cautiously of slight enlargements of the French boundaries, as Prussia was now so well rounded out. Then Bismarck cried: ‘Give me that in writing! To-morrow I must present a demand for a credit of sixty millions for war expenses to the Chamber; with this paper in my hand I can ask for double the sum.’”
Before the war many an angry word had been uttered against Bismarck in Bendler Street, but when a party of literati had assembled there on the twenty-second of July, 1866, they soon began to talk of politics, and each one gave expression to the admiration with which Bismarck’s greatness inspired him. Even Frau Lepsius praised the man whom she had previously judged none too mildly. (See page 245.) They all agreed that it was now possible for the first time to understand this great statesman’s aims and mode of action, and that as an envoy to the Diet he must undoubtedly have already grasped the idea which had now been carried into execution in such a wonderful manner. But Wichern thought he should have allowed his great intentions to be perceived a little more plainly, so that he might have been better understood and not so much hated. Lepsius then rose, and responded to this opinion of the clever master of the “reformatory,” that it was the great characteristic of Bismarck as a statesman that he knew how to keep silence for years, and to pursue his aims quietly. Afew days before this the great Chancelor, on the occasion of the celebration of victory at Kroll, had proposed his beautiful toast to “The Children of Berlin,” who were a little rash in word, but had head and heart in the right place.
The wave of enthusiasm rolled high at that time. Every Prussian heart beat full and quick for its King. Lepsius had always greatly extolled his direct and honest nature, and his clear intelligence, which could never be confused. He was delighted therefore at the Monarch’s saying to him, “I myself proposed you,” when he received the red order of the eagle of the second class in 1867, on the annual celebration of the founding of that order.
The Court Chaplain Snethlage, who had been a faithful friend of the family, resigned his office in July, 1867, and the diary contains the following touching anecdote: “On a certain day one of the men of his parish comes to Snethlage, assures him of his fidelity and reverence, and then says to him, ‘But now I have a request to make of you: Preach no more; it will not do any longer!’ Thereupon the Court Chaplain held his peace for a short time, and then said, ‘You are right, it will no longer do, and I will give up preaching.’”
In September of the same year Lepsius went to Paris and London with his daughters, and in the autumn of 1869 he went to Egypt for the last time, and chiefly on account of the celebration of the opening of the Suez Canal.
When the war between Germany and France broke out, in 1870, the oldest son, Richard, who was just approaching his examination previous to matriculation, begged his parents to be allowed to take the field, and both, with ardent patriotism, accorded him permission. But he was rejected, as not yet sufficiently strong, and therefore, after passing the examination, he visited the arena of war but once, under the command of the army chaplain at whose disposal he had placed himself. His mother meanwhile with restless zeal and the practical ability characteristic of her, was working for the wounded. To put herself in a prominent position was repugnant to her, her only object was to be of real service to the hospital, and this she accomplished with the aid of her daughters and others upon whom she was able to call. Many people brought their donations to her and a large part of the linen and clothing for the Berlin hospital, especially that for the chief depot, was got together by her, and sewed and made ready under her supervision. In doing this she was able to furnish remunerative work for so many poor women that she wrote in the diary: “That is the only good thing about a war, that one can employ so many needy women.” She forgot that it is war which plunges so many women into poverty.
Lepsius was always ready to give and to advise, and delighted in all that his wife and daughters accomplished. The news from the seat of war was awaited with feverish excitement, and the successes of the victorious troops were celebrated with enthusiasm. Theinmates of the Lepsius house received news at first hand from their many friends in high places. Amongst these was now Dr. Stephan, the head of the post-office department. The husband and wife also had a great liking for the minister Frommel; a divine whose sermons Lepsius, who was no regular churchgoer, liked because he “did not preach dogmatically but from and of real life.” These are Lepsius’ own words, and he esteemed Frommel not only as a divine, but as a clever, well-informed and agreeable companion.
During the following years life flowed on more quietly. One after the other the boys left school, and made substantial progress in their professions. The girls became mistresses of families and mothers, the garden ceased to be the scene of the merry games of childhood, the big house, deserted by many of its younger inhabitants, became too large for those who remained; but the old social life did not languish, and the father, with undiminished energy, was still busied in his work rooms. If a large number of friends was assembled in the Lepsius salons among them was usually the Minister of the American Republic. This was at first the grey haired historian Bancroft, afterwards the noble and accomplished poet, Bayard Taylor, who successfully translated Faust into English, and lastly Andrew White, the erudite and liberal-minded promoter of science in the new world.
When Lepsius did not prefer to play chess,—often four-handed chess, or, still better, with three players and a dummy,—he devoted many evenings, as of old,to the “Herrenkränzchen,” or social club of learned friends, in which he bore his part with pleasure, both giving and receiving.
Lepsius belonged to the old or little “Griechheit” during the first years of his marriage and before he built his own house. Its members were: Lepsius, E. Curtius, Gerhard, Abeken, Brandis, Wiese, and other intimate friends. They read Greek classics, and so kept up their familiarity with them and with the world of ancient Hellas, but this was not the sole object of the “Griechheit,” which was rather intended to enable friends of similar tastes and education to pass pleasant and inspiring evenings together, where they might be happy, unconstrained, and free from every sort of pedantry. After the reading and the discussion which followed it, two chosen friends, the diplomat v. Schlözer and the zoologist Peters, were admitted as so-called “commensals,” and they all went to supper. The wife of the member at whose house the society met presided at table, and often the friends remained till a late hour over the merry meal, amidst the clinking of glasses, and pleasant conversation.
With Abeken’s late marriage in 1866, the little “Griechheit,” so dear to all its members, came to an end, though its resurrection was celebrated some years afterwards. But in its new form the more critical and sharper spirit of the present learned society of Berlin prevailed, instead of the inoffensive cheerful tone, and the ideal humanistic thought of its predecessor. Members of the various Faculties, Mommsen, the philosopher Zeller, the mathematician Kronecker, H. Grimm, Wattenbach, the lawyer Bruns, the archæologist Schöne, v. Sybel, and Waitz took part in it, and among them, as representatives of the older “Griechheit” were E. Curtius and Lepsius. The English ambassador, Lord Russel, the Greek ambassador, Rangabé, and George v. Bunsen were also members.
The Wednesday or Literary Club had been founded by Bethmann-Hollweg and Dorner, who was also a friend of the Lepsiuses. The Berlin literati lived at wide distances apart, and this club was begun with the intention of enabling them to meet, and thus giving an opportunity to those who were conducting researches in the various domains of science to enrich each other intellectually, through conversation, and mutual communication of knowledge.
Each member was bound in turn to deliver a discourse upon some subject within his special department of science. Another member had to provide the entertainment, and thus the society met first at one house and then at another. Of the old members many are now dead; those who survive will recollect with satisfaction the delightful evenings in which Lepsius participated with such pleasure.
To this society belonged Bethmann-Hollweg (the president), Dorner, Braun the botanist, E. Curtius, Duncker the historian, Beseler and Bruns the lawyers, Müllenhof the student of German law, language and history, Twesten the grey-haired and vigorous theologian, Friedrichs the archæologist, and also, for severalyears, Wichern, and Bancroft the historian and American ambassador. Of the younger members we may name the astronomer Förster and the geologist and geographer v. Richthofen, who had returned from China, bringing with him important scientific results. After Hermann had made himself at home as president of the Supreme Church Council in Berlin, Dorner immediately inducted him into the “Wednesday Club.” The architect Adler also found admittance to this select circle, which was no less attractive to Lepsius than the “Griechheit,” which met on Friday.
He scarcely went once a year to the Monday Club, although he was a member of this very old society, to which Nicolai had once belonged, It was composed of officials of high rank, and a few scholars. When there was any matter regarding which Lepsius wished to have a personal interview with one of the former, he was glad to go thither to find him and engage his attention.
The Archæological and Geographical Societies he visited occasionally from scientific interest.
If we did not have Lepsius’ own assurance that nothing so refreshed him as the exhilarating intercourse with superior men, it would be hard to understand how, during the latter lustrums of his laborious life, he could conduct such numerous and profound researches to their conclusion, when we consider that he was quite frequently bidden to the evening tea-drinkings in the imperial palace, that even when chief librarian he was never to be counted among the negligent members ofthe Griechheit or of the Wednesday Club, and that in addition to this he had official and social duties. But his mind, cheered and invigorated, soon retrieved by the active labors of the morning those evening hours which had been spent at the “Clubs.”
One after another the children had all flown from the parental nest. A portion of the beautiful garden had to be sold, when Hildebrand Street was made to connect Thiergarten Street with the grand canal. The latter we used to know as a modest sheep pond, upon which the green duck-weed floated like mould, and across whose sandy shores a few isolated trees cast their shadow. Lepsius yielded to the demands of the growing city of Berlin, and the vigorous old man, ever ready for new enterprises, decided to sell the dear old house. In consequence of the great rise in its value it had become too expensive a dwelling for its few inmates, especially as Lepsius had just at that time encountered heavy pecuniary losses. But neither he nor his wife wished to leave the dear old home, and therefore they caused it to be moved, after they had found a suitable lot of ground in Kleist Street on the borders of Charlottenburg, in the extreme western part of Berlin. There it was once more reared, and anyone who once knew the old house, and now seeks and finds the new, will feel, as all of us of that generation must, that he is under the power of a magic spell; for there before him stands the old Lepsius homestead, just as it was in Bendler Street. The interior too has undergone no change, and it is not only that the new house resembles the old, but, in a certain sense, it is the same, for Lepsius did not sell the materials of which his first dwelling-place had been constructed, and after the new owner had torn down the scholar’s home in Bendler Street, in order to erect a large apartment house on the site, Lepsius had it carried to Kleist Street, stone by stone, door by door, and window by window, and thus actually succeeded in living in the old house on the new site. Unluckily, the good fortune which had so long remained faithful to him did not follow him to the new home. He there saw beloved members of his family fall a prey to severe illness, and when he had enjoyed the new dwelling for a short time he was himself attacked by the malignant disease which deprived us of our revered Master, and his children of their dear father.
But, on the other hand, the old house had fully and completely fulfilled the destiny to which its builder had consecrated it in a beautiful speech at the laying of the corner-stone, August fifth, 1854. He then said, speaking of his children and his wife: “This house is not meant chiefly for us, but for our children. But for them we should never have thought of building a house. To them it will be the home of their parents, where their youth will develop, therefore it shall give them as large a portion of the fresh air of heaven and of nature’s green, as it is possible to obtain in a large city. They will people every corner with their childish phantasies, and throughout life their recollections will cling to every tree and shrub.”
Thus it happened; and the wife too, in the old house, which then was new, took the very place which he awarded her in the same speech; “But besides the children,” he had said, “it is to the woman, to the mistress of the house, that the house belongs. There indeed the man may often command or rebuke, but there the woman rules. The husband will live there, but the wife will work there, will govern and provide. Her heart, her eye and her mouth are the true homes of domestic peace, that beautiful jewel of a happy home. As was said of old, she is the ‘house honor;’[101]that is, upon her rests the honor of the house, and to her is due the honor of the house. The proverb says ‘Every wise woman buildeth her house.’ That has been a true saying in this case, for many times has the whole plan passed through the sieve of her wisdom, and each time it has come out finer. Therefore it is just that we should lay the foundation stone exactly here, under the future room of the housewife, as the corner-stone of the house’s honor and the house’s peace.”
The children and friends were attracted to the new home in Kleist Street as they had been to the old, and it gave Lepsius special gratification to build a studio, as an annex to the family dwelling, for his son Reinhold, who had meanwhile developed into a very promising portrait painter. In the evening of his days Lepsius saw his two eldest sons lead home as brides the daughters of two of his friends.
Grandchild after grandchild grew up beside the pair who were now waxing old. The wife had many things to attend to and to watch over, now here and now there; during the last lustrum, too, she had to care for her husband, whose vigorous body had been spared by serious illness until the slight apoplectic attack, already mentioned, impaired the use of his hand. In November, 1883, when we last visited our revered teacher and dear friend, we found him and his wife animated and cheerful in spite of the many terrible blows of destiny which they had encountered. His letters, which, after the apoplectic attack, had been written with a trembling hand, had long since exhibited almost the same firm strokes of the pen as in earlier days, and the writings which date from his latter years show that his mind had retained its old elasticity and depth. But soon after our farewell visit a disorder of the stomach began to undermine his vigorous health, and at the same time his mind was greatly disturbed by the severe illness of his beloved wife.
At Easter, 1884, he felt a premonition of his approaching end and faced it with that serenity of mind which had always distinguished him. At that time, when, without being really ill, he began to feel weak, he often spoke of his impending death. At Whitsuntide he was forced to take to his bed, and he now steadfastly regarded his approaching departure, and quietly prepared for it. He caused his children to be summoned, and clearly and thoughtfully talked over with them everything in his and their material affairs which still required to be set in order. He made anew will, as it had become necessary to change that already in existence on account of the illness of the faithful companion of his life, which was such as to preclude any hope of recovery. After that he was a little better again. The physicians believed that the ulcer of the stomach might heal, on account of the unusual vigor and soundness of the rest of the system: but he did not share their hopes, although he allowed his children to depart.
But soon afterwards the physicians became convinced that the ulcer had developed into an incurable cancer of the stomach. Nevertheless he would not cease work, and his last efforts were devoted to his science.
A polemic article against a Heidelberg colleague had already been sent to press, and had been put in type, in order that it might appear in the next number of the Journal of Egyptian Language and Archaeology. But before this occurred he felt the precursors of death, and recalled the controversial paper and had the type distributed, because he would not close his scientific career “with a discord.”
Then, while in bed, he himself corrected the last pages of his “Linear Measures of the Ancients,” and with the same careful, indeed painful, accuracy which had distinguished his work in the days of health. He also directed to what persons this book should be sent. Like a true German scholar, Lepsius died in the midst of his labors. During the last three days he for the first time occasionally lost his clearness of thought, inconsequence of bodily exhaustion, as for the five previous weeks he had been able to take very little nourishment. His end was painless, and his failing eyes looked round upon his children, to whom it was granted to stand beside his deathbed. At the end he tried to speak to his eldest son, but the brothers and sisters could only distinguish the name “Richard.”
Lepsius drew his last breath on the tenth of July, at nine o’clock in the morning. With entire interest and consciousness he, together with all his children, had eight days before received the holy sacrament from the faithful pastor of the family, the chief Court Chaplain, Kögel. The words spoken beside the coffin of the deceased by that excellent divine were a model of what a funeral discourse should be, and proved that it had been given to Kögel to recognize fully those great qualities of mind and heart which had ennobled the departed.
Thereader of this biography, who has followed with us the development and the subsequent life of Richard Lepsius, will think that he has learned in him to know a character whose estimable and tranquil nature needs no closer inspection. He will consider it a simple one, and therefore of little interest. For although he has followed the life of our hero step bystep from his school days to the climax of fame, from childhood to an advanced old age, yet he has at no time observed in it any noticeable alteration. The reader has seen no great blows of destiny interrupt the earthly existence of our friend, until a short time before his death. Where obstacles have appeared in his path they have been seen to sink of themselves, as if to be the more readily surmounted. For this man Fortune seemed to have changed her nature, fickleness to have been transformed to fidelity, and treachery to truth. But a perfectly happy life is like summer at the North Pole where there is no night; always bright, and without timidity or terror. Yet, though strange, it is monotonous, and therefore the longer the day endures the more destitute is it of charm.
The great natural talents, and the fullness of years granted to this man, were used by him wisely and prudently. He left school and university with the highest testimonials, and always fulfilled his duty with the same active zeal and conscientious earnestness, whether as a young scholar in Paris, Rome and London, as the prudent chief of a great expedition which was crowned with rare success, as the famous master and leader of a progressive science, as a teacher at the university, as the director of a museum, or as chief librarian. Every honor which it was possible for him to attain fell to his lot, and he conducted great undertakings to their conclusion with circumspection, energy and discernment. From his youth up his superior character, as well as his personal appearance and bearing, secured him esteemand consideration, and where it was necessary for him to lead he commanded wisely, justly, vigorously and discreetly.
When he was six and thirty years old he found an admirable consort, who loved him with all the warmth of an ardent young heart, and never ceased to recognize his superiority with happy pride and to honor his great qualities. In his own home his wife ruled freely, and yet he was ever the absolute master. Four fine sons promised to maintain the honor of his famous name, and his beloved daughters endowed him with charming grandchildren. When he closed his eyes he might say that his work, and with it his fame, would endure as long as the science to which he had rendered such great services. He presented his complete works to his native town, Naumburg, that all which he had accomplished might be preserved at his birthplace in theBibliotheca Lepsiana.
It is true that the story of this life shows few shadows amid many lights, and he whom it presents to us underwent no marked change during his years of maturity. Nevertheless, he had not, from childhood up, been this unimpassioned and prudent master of himself, who knew how to control every quick impulse, that he might follow or abandon it as his searching mind decided on its worth or worthlessness. No! for him, too, there must have been a time when an honest man could not have affirmed as he did to his wife in his sixtieth year, that he never had anything to repent, because he always did that which he thought right.
He was considered by many to be essentially a cold man of intellect, in whom feeling was overshadowed by the fully developed and carefully polished mind. This opinion sprang from his dispassionate prudence, the well-bred reserve by which he knew how to hide the weaker parts of his nature, the measured dignity with which he met strangers, and the quiet and thoughtful composure which came from his habit of always holding a dominating position and directing his own affairs as well as those of others. To these were added the imposing dignity of his figure, the clear symmetrical outlines of his fine features, the natural grace of his movements, the finished tones of his speech, and especially the earnest and utterly intolerant severity with which he opposed all falsehood and injustice wherever he encountered them. It was impossible to forget, too, with what energy, wherever he held command, he sought to reduce all that was disorderly to order, or with what independence he, when an attempt was made to depreciate his well won right to the directorship of the Museum,[102]unhesitatingly declared that he would resign his professorship and leave Berlin if his well-founded claims were not accorded to him.
Yet in spite of all this those who would deny him warmth of soul are wrong, indeed we can maintain this confidently, although even to his wife the qualities ofher husband’s intellect were always more apparent than those of his heart.
Let us hear the judgment which she pronounced on him; not during the first ten years of marriage, when, overflowing with love, she found in him something new to admire every day, but after she had shared the pleasures and pains of life with him for nearly a quarter of a century, and had come to feel with bitterness that she would never succeed in leading him to the same conception of a strictly Christian and contrite life which she had herself arrived at many years before.
She had sought once more, on Christmas eve, 1869, to win him over to the charms of that pious faith in miracles which filled her own soul, and to lead him to that fountain “whence alone flowed strength and happiness for her.” He answered her that she should not desire impossibilities, and should hold to that which was good in him, as he gladly contented himself with the many things that were excellent in her. Thereupon she wrote, “Truth and uprightness are family virtues of the Lepsius race. They have usually serene and well disposed natures, noble minds, which despise everything that is trivial, and a strong sense of honor. Richard adds to these a disposition to mediate and reconcile which makes him greatly beloved. Intelligence and clear sobriety of thought prevail among all the brothers and sisters. Richard has attained self-control and moderation amongst the manifold relations of life, and to this his prudence and his knowledgehave added. Vain he is not; in short anhomme comme il faut. At every moment he does what he thinks right, and therefore never has anything to repent of, (he once told me so himself.)” She then calls his character a well-regulated and symmetrical one, with a prevailing intellectual tendency, and, (we repeat), she exclaims after a married life of four and twenty years, and speaking with irritation, “If there were even any positive faults that I had to bear in Richard—but there are no faults, he has none, it is only community of faith which I miss.”
In this analysis of his character there are certainly many words of warm appreciation, and indeed his uprightness was such that every judgment, every expression of opinion which we hear him utter either publicly or in writing to his acquaintances, corresponds exactly to what is contained in confidential letters to his family, and the memoranda intended for himself alone. But his own wife sees in him only the well-meaning, faultless and stainless man of intellect, and forgets that for him, too, there must have been a time when he had to strive against those impulses and emotions to which few men are strangers. Regarding this conflict he had written to her in former years a beautiful and perfectly unreserved letter.
In this document, which gives us a key to the understanding of both his intrinsic and his external qualities, he writes: “I recognize an impulsive disposition as an old fault in myself, and I think I have observed it also in you. Impulsiveness is often beautiful andcharming, and often resembles, in a small way, that which, on a large scale, is among the most splendid products of human inspiration and noble self-sacrifice. But it does not go deep, is not enduring in action, dissipates itself for inferior aims, impedes the quiet and blessed development of those tender and precious germs of grace, resignation, cheerful peace, and ready receptivity for whatever is good in all things and men, which slumber in every well-disposed nature. An impulsive temperament shows itself in every quick emotion which outruns kindness, in hasty judgment which so easily becomes prejudice, in a variable temper, upon which the blood should have no influence, in a tendency to complaint, against oneself as well as against others, and in love of criticism of oneself and others. On this account the diaries which I have sometimes kept have only helped me on the wrong way. The best remedy for an impulsive nature, and one which never fails in the long run, is a determination strengthened by religious conviction and faith to acknowledge to ourselves every disagreeable, disturbing, passionate impulse as wrong and unworthy of ourselves, and simply to put it aside, without regret and without considering ourselves martyrs. Besides this, there is great benefit in a regard for external forms, and refined, gentle manners. These require for their outer clothing freedom from passion, delicate and careful consideration, and an upright endeavor to reach what is really unattainable, and pleaseallat once, except the wicked. It is an enviable thing to please whether among courtiers or in a students’ tavern, and yet to be neither a courtier nor rude. As you see, I say all these and a great many more things like them to myself, but do not follow them much in practice.”
This beautiful monition from a rigorously truthful man contains the confession that impulsiveness was an old fault of his own. But it includes at the same time a strong condemnation thereof, and a summons to battle against it. The remedy which he here declared to be efficacious he had tried on himself, and who knows with what grievous struggles he arrived at that dominion over the impulses of a strong nature, that restraint of external forms, and the practice of those refined and well-bred manners, which already distinguished him when he came to Rome, and which awakened the regard of Frau v. Bunsen (See page 98). It was certainly his honest and firm will and his manly strength, which led him to victory, but not these alone, for through his admonition we can hear the echo of Luther’s “Nothing is done by our own might, ... may the Right Man aid us in the fight.” His firm trust in God, his simple but genuine Christianity, free from every misinterpretation, self-torment and extravagance, supported him in that hard conflict.
In the beginning of his twentieth year he had already set before himself his ideal of life, and this, supported by the energy of his harmoniously constituted nature, he pursued to the end, first with struggle and conflict, and finally without any extraordinary effort, and as if of his own free will.
In Paris, on the occasion of the unveiling of the Vendôme column (Page 61) he wrote: “What can make a deeper impression than the strength of mind which shows itself in a composed bearing and an expression of control, in contrast with the unbridled passions of similar human minds.” To win this “composed bearing,” to acquire perfect command over unbridled impulses, was the aim of all his labor with himself. No, the character of a Lepsius did not come into the world as a thing completed, did not spring like Pallas Athene from the head of Zeus: it was won by hard, prolonged and repeated struggles.
In this campaign against an adversary who, however often he may be slain, continually wakens to new life, he accustomed himself to consider impulsiveness as an enemy, as a peace-breaker, as a disease of sound human nature. This latter, to his eyes, could only be truly great when ruled by calm self-control. Here we find an explanation of the words which he wrote to Bunsen when twenty-nine years old, and which must appear paradoxical and startling to the uninitiated. During his sojourn in England in 1839 his heart had been won by a lovely maiden, but his material circumstances would not permit him to woo her. All this he confessed to his sympathetic patron in reply to his enquiries, and added, “I hold every passion to be a defect in love, and why shall I, at the very outset, declare myself too weak to preserve the purity of true love, and keep it from cooling into passion?”
To all asceticism the healthy nature of this man,with his keen enjoyment of life, was a stranger, but for him the words “impulse” and “impulsiveness” had come to embody everything which transgresses the limits of an orderly and law-abiding life, everything which compels the rider, who should seek to govern his steed and guide it according to his will, to follow the animal instead wherever it may bear him. He at least knew how to compel the steed to submission. In England he seems to have shed warm heart’s blood in his effort to obtain the mastery over himself. There, where he found friendship, love, and the fullest inspiration, we often see him dissatisfied with himself, and hear him complain of “faint-heartedness and every sort of bondage.” (See page 100). He chiefly means here by “bondage” his faulty control over the powerful impulses of his nature, which he endeavors to subdue. Here he confesses to Bunsen (See page 127), that he daily feels he has not yet passed beyond the period of education.
His vivacious wife was astonished, when he was a mature man, to behold him rule over himself with entire and sovereign power, and guide the ship of his and her life. She was often forced to give expression to what she felt at this sight. “Richard,” she says, “always the same, I always depressed or excited.” On one occasion she compares herself with her husband in a different way, and says: “It is very true that it is better and makes one’s path easier through life, to be so passionless. One does not hope for too much, one is not so timid, one is not so much troubled, onedoes not have to struggle so much. But that is the way I am made, and at the bottom, I would not even care to be so self-poised; if one has a harder struggle, one has also more ardor and heartfelt delight.”
But the nature of this man cannot be called so perfectly self-poised, for he was as much beloved as a companion as he was esteemed as a scholar. He never showed in his manner the least trace of pedantry, and, as she herself had previously acknowledged, (See page 247) he gave himself up entirely and thoroughly to everything in which he engaged, whether it was social pleasures or the most serious affairs.
The admirable method of life which he recommends as a means of subduing unruly impulses, distinguished him to the end. It was his fortune to be equally a welcome guest whether at the imperial court or amidst the gay ringing of glasses in the friendly circle, and this was because he was able to take part in the sharpest exchange of opinions, and to experience the heartiest pleasure, without exceeding the limits of good breeding. He could play with his children and knew how to establish himself in their youthful souls. His student comrades remained the friends of his old age, and his travelling companions, over whom he had ruled as a leader, clung to him with affection until his or their death. Who ever showed greater fidelity or firmer friendship than he did towards those equals and colleagues who had come into close relations with him in scientific matters or in family intercourse? They remained closely linked to him in the bonds of affection for decades. From his school-days on, he felt the need of friendship, and when a youth in Paris he gave expression to his thoughts on friendship, and wrote: “A circle of four friends bears the same relation to one of three that a four-legged table bears to a three-legged. Thus two friends form a line and three a surface.” His choice of friends fell exclusively on men of intellectual prominence, but the “intellectual” in its modern, and especially in its Berlin, sense, was repugnant to him. Manfully did he defend the interests of those whom he knew to be men of ability and of whose labors he had availed himself. After the designer Weidenbach had done him invaluable service in Egypt and in the preparation of the great work on monuments and the embellishment of the museum at Berlin, he was left without employment. Lepsius wished to procure him a permanent situation in the museum, and with good right, for his best years had been passed entirely in works ordered by the government, and these he had executed in the best possible manner and without regard to the more lucrative situations which were offered him. Nevertheless the Minister, v. Raumer, coolly refused the petition for this very deserving artist, with the remark that Weidenbach might look for some other employment. Thereupon Lepsius replied to the high official, who was a man of strict piety but little human feeling, and whose ministry has long been recognized as pernicious, “So you think as Talleyrand did, who to the appeal of a suppliant “Mais il faut pourtant que je vive,” replied: “Je n’envois pas la nécessité.” Lepsius knew how to procure the desired situation for his protégé, in spite of Raumer, and Weidenbach filled it admirably to the end.
How is it conceivable the man lacked feeling who, during his whole lifetime, was the object of the warmest attachment from men of such tender feeling as Bunsen, the Grimms, Carl Ritter, Ernest Curtius, Max Müller, and many others. Who can venture to accuse of heartlessness the man who knew how to win the hearts of the best men and women, as he did? On October 17th, 1838, Frau v. Bunsen wrote to Abeken from Llanover: “Lepsius has won the first place in the heart of my mother, (a truly venerable old lady of great experience) and is praised and admired in different degrees by all.” And from how many friends and relations who did not live in Berlin do we hear that it was a festival for them when they received a visit from this great man, who, with all his personal dignity, was most cheerful and sympathetic. His own mother had died early (1819), but his father had married her younger sister, and had found in her a worthy companion for himself, and the most faithful, loving and discreet care-taker and educator for his children that could have been imagined. After the death of the President of the Court the widow’s share of his property amounted to so much that Frau Julie’s future appeared to be assured. Nevertheless, her stepson Richard, our Lepsius, with the cordial assent of his noble wife, immediately declared himself ready to renounce in her favor the not inconsiderable inheritancewhich would fall to his own share. The old lady did not accept this gift, but Richard appears to have been always the favorite among her stepsons. Do I need to recall the fatherly love and fidelity which he showed to the adopted daughter, whom he brought up with his own six children?
Before us lies a large quarto volume beautifully bound. It contains in forty-eight manuscript pages an excellent description of Thebes. This is entitled: “A cyclorama of Thebes, sent as a greeting from the distance to my dear parents on their silver wedding, April, 1845.”[103]The whole has the appearance of a “festal congratulation,” such as children offer to their parents, and its beautiful penmanship evinces the most loving care. Yet the author and writer was no less a person than the celebrated leader of a great expedition and was then four and thirty years old. The conclusion of this “congratulation” runs thus:
“We close to-day, with the week, both our sojourn and our labors in the Memnonia of ancient Thebes. They have kept us fully occupied for fourteen weeks. To-morrow, as a farewell to our Theban capital, I intend to celebrate a little festival, which I have privately arranged. It will be on the top of our hill, where this description was written. I am going to have a new tent raised there and have it decked with green pennons, and will share these pages with my travelling companions, as a little celebration of your weddingfeast. They are accustomed to feel a friendly sympathy in all that nearly concerns or moves me, and therefore in you. Thus, in the immediate enjoyment and observation of this beautiful and remarkable scene, we will once more impress the principal points upon our memories before our departure. We will remember you and the large family circle, which, we hope, will have gathered from the south and the north to surround you in undisturbed happiness. But I shall think of you most vividly, since I cannot myself hand to you both this greeting from the Nile. But so much the more impatiently do I hope to follow it in a few months.”
These words were written by a warm-hearted man, and to them he appends the following significant verses: