My spirit with pleasure now fain would I fill,And blithe little images gather at will:Understand--all poetic--I'm young but the while,And most actively study the humorous style.Renommist of Zachariæ.
My spirit with pleasure now fain would I fill,And blithe little images gather at will:Understand--all poetic--I'm young but the while,And most actively study the humorous style.
Renommist of Zachariæ.
At the time from which we seek to borrow these pictures of student life, there lived in Heidelberg the young musician Hoffmann. He had taken refuge in Ruperto-Carolo from the petty intrigues of the theatrical world, in which occupying a place in the orchestra, he had moved long enough in a neighbouring greater city to become thoroughly weary of it. His creative spirit, his glowing fancy, a certain poetical style, marked him out and gave promise that he would one day enrich that noble art of music, into whose depths he strove enthusiastically to penetrate, with no ordinary performances. The means only had been wanting to ripen in him, taking, as he did, the most lively interest in every artistical and scientific pursuit, to the most beautiful developement, the rich abundance of his talents. How could it then be otherwise than that he should now find himself so happy in the midst of the congenial life and movement of that university city, and in the enjoyment of its natural beauties; that he should be transported to find so many points of agreement between himself and the student youth. He felt the truth of Goethe's words:--"This academical life, even if we cannot boast ourselves of having partaken of its peculiar diligence, yet affords incalculable advantages for every species of accomplishment, since we are perpetually surrounded by men who either possess knowledge, or seek it, so that in such an atmosphere, even while ourselves are unconscious of it, we draw actual nourishment."--Wahrheit und Dichtung.
The amiability of the young Hoffmann, and his social talents, soon gathered a circle of friends around him, and now they all came together to celebrate joyfully his birthday. His invitations, which he clad in various forms of doggerel rhyme, having been sent round, were received with gladness, since every one felt that he had never known ennui in the house of Madame H., No. 9, since Hoffmann had resided there.
The room itself was of so handsome a size; the platform which raised it in one part, gave it a peculiar aspect, and on this elevation he was accustomed to solace himself with his solitary music. It also afforded Hoffmann a particular pleasure to preserve all memorials of friendship and pleasant times carefully, and to decorate his room with them. Thus, therefore, many such things as masks, bouquets, ribands, and sketches made by himself and by his friends, tastefully adorned the room. In a word, the apartment was so agreeable, that every one speedily felt himself at home in it. The tea-table was ready set out, the pipes filled, and a cheerful fire flickered in the stove, round which the already arrived guests had grouped themselves, and heard with pleasure the dismal northeast wind whistle and roar without.
The reader has already been made acquainted with the student Freisleben, and with Eckhard likewise, under the name of the Friend. We shall therefore only remark, that they and the greater number of the other guests had appeared in their morning-gowns; we restrain ourselves from describing their exteriors farther, lest we should fall under the suspicion that we have in our eye actual and particular persons.
Freisleben was in his behaviour grave, and somewhat introverted, especially in large companies; but he became, amongst familiar friends, especially when he was upon favourite subjects, open and lively. His views of life were serious; and he was accustomed to conceal them diligently from the eyes of others, and if any sought to look into him a little more than was agreeable, he would sometimes set on and chatter a good deal of mystifying nonsense. What others had no conception of, either in him or concerning him, his familiar friends, however, knew right well, amongst whom was Hoffmann. They knew that under his quiet exterior, lay hidden a mind peculiarly alive to all that was good and beautiful; yea, that his outward coldness was at the greatest in the very moment that his spirit was the most deeply stirred. If he hated or loved any one, that knew he very ill to conceal. For the rest, he was tolerably firm in his principles, and knew how at the right time to act for himself and his friends; and his failing was only in the time of inactivity a too great weakness of resolve, and a certain romantic turn of thought, which in the company of amiable ladies brought his peace too easily into danger. He had pursued the study of medicine by no means with a onesided view.
His neighbour, the Herr von Kronen, a native of H----, was to a certain degree, his opposite; and yet the two agreed right well together. Kronen had something formal and reserved in his disposition, without being unfriendly. He carried himself with secure tact in all society, and his sagacity enabled him to see through every one, and treat them aright, without seeming for that purpose in the least to have altered his own behaviour. He was far from troubling himself about the approbation of others, and there were very few people of whose good opinion he was desirous. He was a searching inquirer, and permitted no impression to fix itself upon his mind till his understanding had examined it on all sides. He was cautious in his judgment, and was thoroughly candid towards every sufficiently intimate acquaintance. He had met with many bitter experiences in life, and was once cruelly deceived by a lady. Thence originated his dislike of all women, which, however, he gratified by making court to them all, and turning the most foolish of them into ridicule. On this head he came often into contention with Freisleben, who, on his side, ranked women very high, and had a great opinion of their general worth. His favourite study was history; and he had obvious talents for a good diplomatist.
On the contrary, Eckhard was a jurist, good, true, honest, and had a practical look. He was always joyous, and never averse to the enjoyments of life. He stood freely and firmly by his friends, especially when it came to a duel. His failing was an all too-great Pfalzish bluntness. He promised one day to become a right able man of business.
This was the company which had seated itself round the stove, and waited the arrival of the rest. They entertained themselves with scientific subjects, and had got down so deep into them, that they scarcely noticed how two new guests came rattling up the steps. With much bustle and noise appeared now the Jurist Enderlin, and the student of medicine Pittschaft, whom at first it was not very easy to recognise, so famously had he wrapped himself in coats, morning coats, cloaks, and fur cap, against the cold.
As to Enderlin, every one knew that he was a good, inconsiderate fellow, who was constantly merry even almost to dissipation; with a piercing voice and a Pomeranian gibberish of a dialect; was perpetually disputing, and only too ready to rush into a quarrel. His study, jurisprudence, occasioned him no sleepless nights.
Enderlin.--Good evening, gentlemen! I have the honour to present to you the great physician from Petersburg. I must beseech you to help me to free him from some of the ballast that he has loaded himself with, lest the disrespectful wind should so hurry his slow and reverend steps that he might have been taken for a locomotive engine.
Eckhard now assisted Enderlin to wind their friend out of his wrappers, as an onion is stripped peel after peel. Rind after rind was abstracted, till it was feared that nothing at all would be left. But the fear was vain, for what of Pittschaft finally was rolled out, it required no microscope to discover.
Pittschaft far exceeded his friend in good nature, and was accustomed often to become his joke. Yet he was one of the few, who, although they often become the object of much merriment and laughter, yet never sink in the liking and respect of their friends thereby. New schemes and plans were continually running through his head, and his especial pleasure was to reconcile again to each other, friends between whom any distance or misunderstanding had arisen. He treated all matters with great importance; had many especial friends; and decided upon things even when he knew very little about them, in the most learned manner. Wavering in his opinions, he followed willingly the counsel of his friends, and with as good will gave counsel to others, and that even without ever being asked. It often sorely troubled him that, though he had always the very best intentions, he seldom could bring to bear what he attempted, yet he soon comforted himself again, through the natural and acquired endowments and talents which he was conscious of possessing.
Hoffmann.--Where then have you left our Briton, who is seldom so dilatory when a cup of tea is in question?
Pittschaft.--He is so busy now studying the art of smoking that he is gone to a bookseller's to purchase a compendium upon it.
Eckhard.--How do you like our new protegé, Mr. Traveller, then?
Pittschaft.--O, that is a regularly clever fellow. He seems so very desirous to strike up a friendship with me. We have already exchanged our views upon many weighty matters.
Hoffmann.--Without doubt thou hast been the only winner by the exchange, for the Englishman is a really amiable fellow. He takes a much more ready interest in every thing than his countrymen are wont to do; and he pleases us especially in this, that he knows how to value what is foreign; that he does not, as his countrymen commonly do, estimate the worth of a thing entirely by its resemblance, or dissimilarity to what is English. He has a sound judgment, and puts his questions in that manner, that one has a pleasure in answering them.
Von Kronen.--Yes, I wo'nt have the English inveighed against. They are an able people, of good kernel, and one must pardon them their singularities.
Hoffmann.--Only it is a pity that the taste for music is nearly lost to them. I have often been vexed with it. When they admire a musical performance, it generally happens that it is only because it is by some celebrated master.
Eckhard.--They must be excused in many cases, because they are so completely the slaves of ceremonial; but if they only come awhile amongst us, they soon can unlearn that, and become in society as free a people as they are already a political one.
Enderlin.--They are famous fellows these English, and box like the devil. Nothing would give me so much pleasure as to have a round with one of them for once. We would see, however, whether I could not upset him with my Pomerlandish head.
Freisleben.--I have made the acquaintance of many of the Britons, whose society afforded me a genuine pleasure. Their noble independence, the cool courage, the practical eye, their love of freedom, their straightforwardness, make them worthy of esteem, although one sometimes sees these shining qualities disfigured by egotism and indifference. Of the women, I will not speak. "On the Rhine, are the ladies very fine." "In Saxony also, the lovely maidens grow." That is all very good; but in England, I believe, were I there, I should fall in love at least once every day.
Von Kronen.--Ah! now we're off on the high road to sentimentality! It will not be long before he will give it you line and verse--"how man can only be ennobled by intercourse with most-to-be-adored woman." He will sing you "the joys of the beloved;" "the noble resolves, which out of an heart," etc. etc., and other such nonsense. No, these women are wicked creatures, that play with us, as Master Flea in Hoffmann says--as the cat with the mouse. But when thou hast learned to reverse that play, then art thou the true master. Recollect what Lichtenberg says,--The expressions--"to give a heart," "to give favour," are poetical expressions. Maidens don't give their hearts away, they sell them for money, or honour, or they exchange them for others, in which exchange they either have, or fancy they have, the advantage.
Freisleben.--He who honoureth not woman, and woman's mind to----
Von Kronen.--Phoh! cease all that. If thou dost not give over I shall run into the street that the wind may blow the stuff out of my ears. This is the consequence of thy associating so much of late with that Krusenstern, who makes such an everlasting sentimental face, like a goose that has had the feathers plucked out of its living body. They should stuff him with Indian corn, and hang him in the smoke, that they might grow him a good liver, with its appendage, a gall-bladder.
Freisleben.--Thou judgest to-day, contrary to thy wont, rashly upon my friend. Thy judgment is false and unjust; but that arises from thy knowing his history. The poor fellow is deeply to be pitied.
Pittschaft.--Freisleben, let us hear the story. We are all curious; and thou knowest it will remain amongst us friends.
Hoffmann.--See there! At length appears Mr. Traveller! Good evening. Take off your things. Seat yourself by the stove: here is a pipe, and here the Fidibus.
Mr. Traveller.--Best thanks! Ha, it is savagely cold without; but here, thank God, it is warm and comfortable. But I have disturbed the gentlemen!
Hoffmann.--Not at all. Freisleben is about to tell the story of an unfortunate student. I fancy you would take an interest in it too.
Mr. Traveller.--I am all ear.
Freisleben.--Krusenstern, whose pale and wasted figure you now see passing silently about, was not always so. Once he was one of the handsomest students that the walls of Ruperto-Carolo ever enclosed. Every endowment that honours man, adorned him; that, even his envier must admit Nature had richly crowned him with her gifts; and the education he, sprung from one of the richest mercantile families of the city of N----, enjoyed, had brought those gifts to their highest perfection; but he had one shadow-side, and this was his choleric temperament; a failing sufficient to plunge him into ruin. Similar studies, similar sentiments united him in a strong bond of friendship with Von Avensleben, the only son of a house of ancient nobility. It was now in the year before his examination that he first saw and became acquainted with the sister of his friend; a most amiable lady, who then resided some time with her parents in the city of Heidelberg. His manly nature, free from all rudeness; his attractive demeanour, which a fine feeling of propriety pervaded; and his finished education, won him the heart of the damsel, and he testified to me that he had found in her that ideal which he had before continually sought in vain. I had the happiness to know the amiable family of the young lady, and recall with a melancholy joy the time which I spent amongst these good, and then so happy, people.
The widow Von Avensleben was as much distinguished for her high accomplishment as for her most unassuming disposition. She was well acquainted with the master works of German and foreign literature; and her knowledge of the world, and her nice tact, gave to her conversation a peculiar charm. She embraced her children in her innermost heart, her constant care was to smooth out every slightest trace of discord between them; and if she had a failing, it was her too great indulgence of them.
Amalia was the eldest daughter. She might be compared to one of those noble metals, which, because not vainly glittering on the surface, escape the eyes of ordinary men: but the noble ore conceals not its peculiar qualities from the knowing eye, which the more he observes, the more beautifully they discover themselves, and satisfy him that the pure metal requires no further refinement. In personal beauty inferior to her sister, the maiden had earlier advanced to a reflection upon herself and others, and her clear understanding enabled her to arrive at noble and free views of the true worth of outward things, and of her own mind. Thus she had early demonstrated that she was capable of the greatest sacrifices for her friends--for her friends, who were chosen after mature consideration, and in which choice womanly sagacity and fine feeling were her guides. Her youthful timidity gave place, as she first became conscious of her worth, to a noble assurance. She judged others with indulgence, but hesitated not to speak out what was an acknowledged truth, even when that truth was not flattering to another. Thus showed she herself constantly as a noble and true soul, which one must continue to love more and more.
The little Maria was not so circumspect as her sister. As a lovely butterfly, she fluttered from flower to flower, extracting from each the best honey. Her vivacity led her to embrace whatever was good and beautiful with heartiness; but exactly because every thing is not good and beautiful, was indispensable to her a change of the flowers from which she drew nourishment. She knew how to show herself friendly and full of kindness to all who felt themselves compelled to pay to her the tribute of her love-worthiness, without tyrannically abusing her magic wand. But, when she sometimes saw that the lovely and brilliant side of a thing had too much biassed her frequently too predominant feeling; when she found herself deceived in and discontented with what she had, in her too enthusiastic fancy, taken up, would she painfully lament over the dark side of life. Certainly, every one who had once seen the little elegant being, as she charmingly and sweetly moved in society; every one who had glanced on her fine and noble features, and into her speaking eyes, must have loved her; and when she, moreover, sung with the clear metal of her voice, one of the beautiful songs which my friend accompanied on the piano, every one was enchanted.
Thus were they happy people; and the rapidly approaching completion of his university life, his rare acquirements, and the protection of men high in the government, gave my friend the promise of a near and a yet happier future. Ah! who could have thought that the peace of this happy family should be so horribly destroyed; that this lovely bond should have been so cruelly rent asunder! An inconsiderate action of the young Von Avensleben converted this paradise into a hell.
He had accidentally received intelligence of a serenade which Krusenstern proposed to give to his loved one. This excited him to an ill-considered joke. As his friend glided near to the house with the nocturnal music, and standing near in the shade of another house, delighted himself with the imagination of the joy that his attention would give to Maria, Avensleben showed himself at the window, clad in a woman's night-dress, and threw a hand-kiss to Krusenstern. The wrath of Krusenstern at this foolish exposure of his lady to the ridicule of the musicians was furious, and a challenge to a duel with pistols was the consequence. No representations were able to bring him from this terrible resolve; and a journey which the family of Von Avensleben made, in order to spend a few days on a neighbouring estate of theirs, afforded the sundered friends an opportunity to compass their unhappy intention.
They drew in the early morning to the appointed place. Krusenstern with his seconds was first there--a spot well known to travellers by the name of the Engelswiese, or Angel's Meadow, lying up in the woods above the Neckar, on the opposite side to the city, and showing its pleasant green area belted in by the forest, to wanderers about the castle, though invisible to the valley below. He walked in silence to and fro, and gazed down upon the city, which lay gloriously illuminated by the morning sun. He could even distinguish the house where he had enjoyed the purest and deepest pleasures; he thought over the happy past; and anxious forebodings of a dark and perdition-blasted future rose up before him. The curtain was only too soon to be drawn aside, which his eyes were not yet permitted to penetrate. His antagonist appeared on the ground; the old resentment drove out every softer emotion; the seconds measured out the distance, the pistols were loaded, the word given--Von Krusenstern shot--but it became night before his eyes, as in the same moment he saw his antagonist spring on high, and then fall to the ground. He had received his death-wound.
Who shall describe the situation in which poor Krusenstern found himself!--who the misery of the friends of both! He was immovable to all persuasions to flight, and was committed by the magistrate to whom he had surrendered himself of his own accord, to the university prison until further inquiry.
The family of the fallen youth were immediately written to, to tell them, that, on account of some degree of indisposition, he would not be able immediately to follow them, as had been agreed, and a friend of the house undertook the sorrowful task of opening to them the dreadful intelligence. But the most terrible part was yet to come. Von Avensleben was highly beloved amongst the students, and it was resolved to attend his funeral with a torch-train; and that the wretched prisoner, who, during all this time had sate brooding in a stupor of grief without listening to any one, might not perceive it, they determined that the funeral should take place a day earlier than usual. I was with the unhappy man on this eventful evening, endeavouring to comfort him, and to withdraw his thoughts from the dark pictures of his imagination. The shutters of the little room were closed, but a tone of the dismal mourning music struck his ear as the funeral train passed by the end of the street, along the Hauptstrasse, or High Street, of the city. "My friend! they bear him to the grave!" cried he with a terrible voice, and rushed to the window. I endeavoured to hold him back, but he tore himself loose from my grasp with giant strength, and bursting open the shutters struck his head against the iron grating. There flared the sullen glow of the torches, and the tone of the trumpets quivered through my vitals. With ghostlike, terrible, and distorted countenance, he gazed after the melancholy train;--"I--I have murdered him! the good, the true friend! There! I see him with the bleeding wound, crying, 'Wo!' over me! Oh God! Oh God! thou has cast me off! Maria! Maria! what have I done to thee! Seize me, ye spirits of hell! Tear me away from the pure angel-form!" So he raved on, till, exhausted, he fell back into the chamber.
He passed the night in the most horrible delirium; and for many days it was not dared to leave him a moment alone, lest he should effect his desperate endeavours at self-destruction.
But if the train left horrors behind it, it met yet still greater as it approached the end of the city. The letter had reached the family of Von Avensleben, but the friend had missed the sisters in the darkness of the night, as they hastened back to town to attend their sick brother.
"Whom do they bury there?" asked the trembling Maria, as their carriage, passing in at the Mannheim gate, was detained by the mourning procession.
"The student who was shot in the duel," answered an old man, who did not know the young lady--"the Herr Von Avensleben."
The cry of horror and misery in the carriage, as it wheeling round again rolled away through the dark night, I attempt not to describe. Maria only too soon became aware of the whole terrible secret. She fell into a long and severe nervous fever, and only arose from her sick bed to die a more weary death from the sure poison of incurable sorrow. She had written to her former lover a most moving letter, which assured him of her pardon, and in which she exhorted him to listen to the consolations of religion.
The kind girl had not desired the return of the little admonitory tokens of happy days; she had also retained his gifts, memorials of a pure and beautiful love, which a dreadful fate had destroyed.
Krusenstern, who spent two years in prison, is now come back again, and--you have seen him.
All had listened in silence to the recital. Of some of them, the pipes were gone out,--others blew powerfully clouds of smoke around them.
"Poor Krusenstern!" said Eckhard. "I revoke all that I have said against him."
"A most sorrowful history," said the Englishman.
"And false notions about women is the cause of all," said Von Kronen. "The poor Krusenstern would never have gone so far if he had not regarded his love in too romantic a light. This mischief would never have happened if he had only read my favourite author, Lichtenberg, where he says,--'That the irresistible power of love can raise us, through its object, to the highest pitch of happiness, or plunge us down to the lowest gulf of misery, is poetical nonsense of young people, whose heads are yet only growing; which have no voices in the counsels of men; and for the most part are so constructed that they are never likely to have any.'"
"We must have no more such stories," said Hoffmann, "or the pleasures of the whole evening will be destroyed. The tea is ready; take your places, gentlemen."
Mr. Traveller, tasting the tea, pronounced it capital; and declared his astonishment that the Frau Philistine could prepare so excellent a beverage; but the host gave him to understand that he had brewed it himself. "It is my favourite beverage," said he, "and when I spend the evening at home, serves me for supper; or I cook a beefsteak and potatoes in the little machine which stands yonder, and which is a good deal in vogue amongst the students."
"So, so!" said the Englishman, "that is very sensible now."
While they thus chatted, the House-besom entered, and set upon the table a handsomely-shaped tart, which is called in this part of the country, a Radonen-cake, as a gift from Herr Schütz, in whose house Hoffmann was familiar. The cake was admired, and the host addressed himself to cut it up scientifically, when--zounds! the whole cake was nothing but a snow-ball, which had been made in a proper mould, and which had received the requisite colour from an ingenious powdering with brick-dust. "So shalt thou return to the water out of which thou wert made," exclaimed Hoffmann, as the whole company laughed heartily at the deception.
When tea was over, the company divided itself. The Englishman and Von Kronen plunged deep into a game at chess. The other four played at whist, and Hoffmann, as master of the house, did the honours, wandering first to this and then to that table. The whist party continued long; after the first rubber they obliged the host to join then, and so spun out their play to the fifth rubber. In the meantime the two others had terminated their game at chess, and seated themselves by the stove, smoking their pipes, and chatting over this and that.
"Has your pipe a good chair-way?" asked the Englishman, whom this student expression amused.
"It goes like a flute," answered the other. "Why you have made yourself master of the art of smoking, even to its very technical terms."
"You can scarcely believe," said Mr. Traveller, "how much I am interested in every thing, that is German, of which smoking is one thing, and especially in all that is connected with its university system. So long as I continued in England, I did not trouble myself much on this head, but now I use all the endeavours I can to acquaint myself with the present constitution of your universities. You must recommend to me a book in which I can find some notice of the origin of universities in general, and of the earlier fortunes of that of Heidelberg in particular."
"The best book on that subject," said Enderlin, who had come from the whist-table, "is Von Kronen himself. He can give you such a lecture upon it, that all the rats in the house shall run out; for which reason they wished to appoint him, in Westphalia, to the office of chamber-hunter.Tres faciunt collegium, so let us erect him acathedra, whence he may pronounce his lecture."
These arrangements were speedily made. In the meantime Von Kronen had put his visage into a very learned form, and begun:--
Gentlemen,--Let us, as true sons of Minerva, exhibit an agreeable contrast to those people yonder, who have given themselves up to the burthen of play. May the honey of my words drop into your ears, and turn you into true disciples of wisdom. But the subject of our present lecture is the earlier fortunes of universities in general, and in particular of Ruperto-Carolo, that ancient fountain of knowledge, out of which we have drunk deep draughts.
"The sup of wisdom," interrupted Enderlin, "that we have eaten with a spoon, is a more beautiful metaphor--"
I warn the indiscreet hearer--said thepro temporeprofessor, Von Kronen, sternly frowning,--of Tit ii. section 27, of the academical laws, where it is declared that--'insults towards persons who are placed in authority in the university, or towards the persons connected with them, shall be strictly punished; if they are offered from revenge, so must the punishment be made the sharper, and, according to circumstance, may be even penally amerced.' After this, let no man insult or interrupt.
Our European universities, as they at present exist, are the production of a comparatively late period, since, though we find institutions resembling them in very early times, yet they were essentially and wholly different to ours. History shows us how, through the continually progressing culture of a people from age to age, institutions for the fostering and diffusion of knowledge formed themselves; and thus we find, at first, the so-called Priest-Schools in Egypt, Persia, India, and amongst the Hebrews; amongst the Celtic people the cloister-like unions of the Druids, which in caves and solitary woods, imparted to the most distinguished of the youth oral instruction.
The business of teaching was confined to expounding of the laws, of the holy books, and so forth, and was communicated in verses. The educational institutions of the Greeks were of a higher grade. The first and most celebrated High School was Athens; which also in still later times, maintained a high rank in this respect. We must here only remind ourselves of the gardens of Plato, in which he imparted his instructions in philosophy. The Cynosarges, where Antisthenes taught; the Poikyle or Stoa, where Zeno assembled his disciples; the gardens of Epicurus, and afterwards of the museum at Alexandria. Philosophy was the great science: as to them the Faculties, as well as the so-called Bread sciences (sciences made a trade or profession of) were totally unknown. The Greeks also possessed public libraries, as those at Alexandria and Pergamus. The educational institutions of the Romans were modelled essentially upon those of the Greeks, and enjoyed the most extensive influence from the 607th year after the building of Rome; and the highest veneration was shown to professors from Greece, who taught in them philosophy and the arts. The Romans also held it indispensable to visit and study in the schools of Greece, and their young nobility especially resorted to Athens, Rhodes, Alexandria, etc. The Romans, moreover, were not acquainted with the division into Faculties, and every man of standing studied the liberal arts--studia humaniora--in their whole compass; and libraries, and collections of works and remains of art, were much more numerously and richly at their command. The study of philosophy was not the less zealously prosecuted than in Greece; but the grammatical philosophy of the Greek and Roman tongues, combined with rhetoric and poetry, were the highest objects of education. The continually increasing numbers of the immigrating Grecian professors, led to the founding of many other schools in Italy. Amongst the most important was the Athenæum, founded by the Emperor Hadrian, afterwards called the Schola Romana; those of the capitol, and other temples. Vespasian was the first to establish public professors of political science with fixed salaries. Antoninus Pius raised the so-called imperial schools, as did Valentinian those of Rome generally, to the higher distinction, by a thorough and salutary reform. Athens, however, still continued to maintain the highest reputation, down to the tenth century, to which people flocked from all countries.
With the fall of Rome fell also the schools, and all the higher institutions for the diffusion of knowledge; but with the spread of Christianity they began again to rear their heads, but with a very essentially different character. Their tendency was preeminently theological,--as the theological seminaries, and the catechetical schools, especially at Alexandria, testify; which latter maintained the highest celebrity, from the second to the fourteenth century. This theological tendency manifested itself still more in the episcopal and cathedral schools, where indeed the so-called Seven Free Arts were also taught, but in the most miserable and imperfect manner. Theology, growing every day more sterile, yet exercised a perpetually increasing lordship over philosophy, and formally subjected it to tutelage, as the monastic schools from the sixth to the eleventh century most strikingly show. These institutions sought the immediate protection of the hierarchy, and the result of their labours was the School Philosophy.
Charlemagne and his friend Alcuin again first comprehended the idea of a general humane accomplishment. The former founded the Schola Palatii, for princes and young men of condition, and Alfred in England established similar ones there; but with the death of these remarkable men, all seemed to fall back again into the old track. These cloister schools, however, in the ninth century, merged into the so-called Faculty Schools; which again in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries lived anew as Universities. Thus, in consequence of the schools of Charlemagne and Alfred, a free spirit of scientific inquiry evolved itself from the cloister schools, which found a corroborating co-operation in the Rabbinical schools of North Africa, in Spain, and France, and still more, in the schools of the Arabs. There, such Faculty Schools stood forth with especial prominence; the one for medical science at Salerno; for jurisprudence at Bologna, which possessed distinguished privileges as the gift of the Emperor Henry I. through theAutenticaof the year 1158. The scholastic theology soon separated itself from the Aristotelian-Arabic Philosophy, and the seat of the latter became Paris. Amongst many precious privileges, which these three institutions received in consequence of theAutenticaof Frederick I., that of Philip Augustus for Paris was the most remarkable. It freed it from the civil jurisdiction, and placed it under the jurisdiction of its own teachers. Paris was also the first university in which all branches of education were taught; yet even there, still theology continued to be the prominent study, and none of the universities could confer all kinds of academical honours. So, doctors of theology could only be created in Paris; of law, only in Bologna, and so on. As these schools now became actually universities, they ceased to bear the names of scholæ, studia, studia generalia, and the name of universities was adopted, and has ever since continued in use.
The teachers of the universities received originally no stipend from the state. Frederick II. paid to the teachers of the newly-founded university at Naples in 1224, the first fixed stipend. The great advantages of a university education becoming, by degrees, generally known, occasioned many cities, which saw these advantages, to endeavour to become university-cities themselves, so that from the thirteenth century the number greatly increased. Universities were founded in Montpellier in 1220; in Orleans in 1312; and in Prague in 1348; the last in particular formed on the model of that of Paris. Independence of the state created, especially in Prague, a most beneficial freedom of doctrine in the teachers, which was often directed against the prince, and often against the church, with the most distinguished consequences.
We are once more conducted by the mention of Prague back to the universities of Germany, and it must be, in the first place, observed, that this university for a considerable period was, and continued to be, the only one. But as knowledge penetrated more and more into Germany, and especially as it was cherished and promoted by the princes, the want of such higher educational institutions was more and more felt, and thus arose in the German territory, previous to the end of the fifteenth century, fifteen universities,--of which Vienna was founded in 1365; Heidelberg in 1387; Cologne in 1388; Erfurt in 1392; Leipsic in 1409; Rostock in 1419; Freisburg in Breisgau in 1452; Greifswalde in 1456, 1472; Trier in 1454, 1472; Basle in 1460; Ingoldstadt in 1471; Tübingen in 1477; Mayence in 1471. At the beginning of the sixteenth century arose Wittenberg in 1502, and Frankfurt on the Oder in 1505; Marburg in 1527, the first Protestant university; Königsberg in Prussia in 1544; Jena in 1554, 1557; Altdorf in 1675, 1678; Helmstadt 1575.
At that period, however, the Protestant princes only could be justly praised for their care to provide able professors; the universities which continued Catholic, or which were newly-founded by Catholic princes, as those of Dillingen in 1613; Paderborn in 1615; and Molsheim in 1618; were occupied by the Jesuits. In consequence of the unfortunate Thirty Years' War, many of these universities fell; many suffered much from the chances of war; and these circumstances incited neighbouring princes to found new universities. So arose the university at Giessen in 1650; at Duisburg in 1655; at Kiel in 1665. The Elector Frederick III. of Brandenburg--King Frederick I.--changed in 1694 the Ritter School at Halle into a university. A general improvement of the instruction given in all the universities in this century is observable: but spite of all endeavours at improvement in this respect, the sciences all continued to be taught in a very unphilosophical manner, and in the Latin tongue.
The necessary advance from this wretched state of things began with the eighteenth century, through the universally restless activity of the philosopher Leibnitz. Christian Wolf taught first in the spirit of Leibnitz and in the German tongue. George II. seconding the better spirit of the time, founded a new university at Göttingen in 1734; Margrave Frederick of Brandenburg-Anspach one at Erlangen in 1743; and a Catholic one arose through the Prince-Bishop of Dalberg in 1734 at Fulda, but was dissolved again in 1804. The good spirit continued to work on through the remaining half of the eighteenth century, and thus in 1760, Duke Frederick of Mecklenburg founded a university at Bützow, which was in 1789 united to that of Rostock. The Duke Karl Eugen of Würtemberg in 1770 founded that of Stuttgardt, which was, however, again dissolved in 1794. Bonn also at that period received the foundation of its university. More recently was founded that at Landshut, whither the university of Ingoldstadt was removed in 1800, and again in 1827 removed to Munich. Wittemberg ceased in 1816, being united to that of Halle; and in 1810 a new university was founded at Berlin.
We have now, gentlemen, taken an historical glance at the German universities, and at their foundations, so far as is necessary. They were called forth by the ruling circumstances of the times, and established themselves now in this manner and now in that. But it is especially interesting to us to have seen that the university of Heidelberg was one of the earliest, and continues one of the first; its rank no one will presume to contest. She has raised her noble head amid all the storms of time, and no state revolutions or other political epochs could make her bend. Ruperto-Carolo shone like a morning sun on the horizon of scientific endeavour, and we now shall take with particular pleasure the opportunity----
"To invite the honourable listeners politely to partake of a modest supper;" interrupted Hoffmann. "Thou mayst finish thy learned lecture another time."
Von Kronen.--Far be it from me to throw any obstruction in the way of so praiseworthy a proposition; especially, as the favourite adage of our city of the Muses has always been--the utile dulci.
Mr. Traveller.--So postpone we then the continuance of the discourse to a future day.
The little collation was in the mean time brought up, and the company, under the conduct of the musical artist, made the most successful attacks on the ham and veal cutlet. The Göttingen sausage, moreover, an imitation of the renowned Sulzer, was as little spared as the potato-salad, and the scattered remains soon alone marked the battle-field. A noble Rhine-wine recruited the muscles of the jaw, and loosed again the tongue of the brave combatants. The affairs of the day became the subject of discourse, and occurrences in Hanover, which then appeared likely vitally to affect the interests of all Germany, were eagerly discussed by all. Mr. Traveller, as the representative of England, stated the strong feeling which there prevailed against the King of Hanover, and so they came to talk of the prevailing views and theories in England, on many subjects, and Mr. Traveller speedily entangled himself in a discussion on Phrenology, which he endeavoured to defend. Freisleben, a determined opponent to the theory, immediately took up the subject zealously.
Freisleben.--They are now signs on the skull that man will expound, formerly they were signs in the heaven. What unpardonable presumption, from certain deviations from the regularity of the outer form, to infer an analogical change of the soul. A leap which, according to my opinion, is not less than from comets' tails to war. What presumption, from the body to seek to form conclusions upon the spirit, whose mode of connexion with it is to us totally unknown! It strikes me exactly as if any one should infer or assert the possession of a fine sense of smell, from the existence of a huge nose, or, as dancing is a function of the foot, that he who has a great foot must be a capital dancer.
Mr. Traveller.--Throw the matter into ridicule as much as you please, but take along with you at the same time the evidences which experience furnishes.
Freisleben.--These evidences have long been shown to evidence nothing, and it astonishes me that this doctrine of Gall and Spurzheim, this ephemeral structure, can find so much acceptance in England.
Mr. Traveller.--I know the thing only by popular representations. But the principles which are herein derived from anatomy and physiology, to which Gall and Spurzheim have rendered much service, the grounds which pathology and comparative anatomy also furnish, appear to me worthy of all attention.
Pittschaft.--That nobody denies; but Gall having rendered essential service to the anatomy of the brain, by no means justifies his doctrine.
Freisleben.--His theory must fall, when it is assaileda priori, or by experience. Above all things, unphilosophical, not to say ridiculous, is his distribution into twenty-seven senses. By what right has he only so many set forth; and why is a boundary drawn here?
Mr. Traveller.--Though many things may be said against this distribution, yet it is often seen in life that an individual sense as marked out by Gall, is pre-eminently developed and frequently almost exclusively predominates; I remind you of his five-sorts-of-memory sense.
Freisleben.--Certainly. But what is the cause of this? Is it not to be sought rather in external influences, which especially develope this kind of memory? And if we leave this out of view, then must we go still farther. So there is a painter who can paint only landscapes; and I recollect in Matthisson's Reminiscences, to have read of a Cretin in Berne, who could paint cats, and cats only, but them most excellently. How much farther must Gall's artistical faculty be subdivided, till it reaches down to the cat-painting faculty!
Mr. Traveller.--The artistical faculty is probably in this painter, but we must assume that it is prevented from unfolding itself in all directions.
Freisleben.--But there you knock yourself down. Since, if we assume that there is no necessity for the faculty, which the external elevation of the skull indicates, to develope itself, then the whole pile of Phrenology tumbles to the ground. But does it develope itself, and is this acknowledged as necessary, what incalculable and horrible consequences must this have! All moral responsibility ceases: the criminal escapes punishment, since he can show on his skull the irresistible murder-sense. But I will not pursue this farther, since, happily, we have nothing to fear from it. Scarcely in a single instance do the outer plates of the skull-bones correspond permanently with the inner ones, and therefore not with the brain. I call to your recollection only the skulls of certain animals, in which, between the two skull-plates, is to be found a large hollow, as we, indeed, also find in man; as, for instance, the hollow of the forehead--the frontal sinus--which is, in different individuals, very differently developed. Then again the most recent physiological experiments show, that in occurring injuries, they are not by any means of so much consequence in the external portion of the brain, in the hemisphere, but that it is exactly the inner portion which is of the most importance, and which also has a much more determinate shape. In injuries of the head too, cases have occurred, where whole spoonsful of the hemisphere of the brain have been taken out without the slightest diminution of the actively intellectual powers. Object not to me that the convolutions of the hemisphere of the brain have been particularly developed in distinguished men--here it was also the case with the inner portion: one part does not develope itself without the other. Object not that the anatomy of beasts gives no secure result, since if this is the case, how can phrenology itself dare to hope to give more certain judgments? The firm and immovable part--the form of the bones especially--is delusive: in the first place, since they have long acquired their form and consistency before every species of improvement of the improvable creature takes place, which comes long after the complete fixidity; and secondly, since this form depends so little upon our will, while the influence of external causes is so unavoidable, and a single pressure or stroke can gradually work a change, whose progress no art is capable of restraining. Moreover, even could any thing be deduced from this, still the firm parts yet constitute but a certain and perpetually fixed proportion, a single and insignificant link in the chain of countless circumstances, which go to the formation of the human character.
Mr. Traveller.--My God! my head is in a whirligig with all this--with all this rapid German.
Freisleben.--One must not allow one's-self to speak of the outer form of the head in which a free spirit dwells, as one would of a pumpkin; as little must we calculate circumstances which depend upon it, as we would calculate an eclipse. Others assert, with equal probability, that the character of a man lies in his countenance, whilst they appeal to the capability of drawing a conclusion on the whole from the indications of a part; as others, supporting themselves on this sufficient ground, assert, that man must act as a machine. And to this class of reasoning belongs--"in a handsome body dwells a handsome soul."