Chapter IX: Part 9

The reader 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 by step 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 esteem and 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 the BIBLIOTHECA 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 of her 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 knowledge have added. Vain he is not; in short an _homme 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 and charming, 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 please _all_ at 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, one does 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’en vois 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 inheritance which 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 wedding feast. 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:

For science, though with effort strong we see
Her seek a lofty goal,
Though from its chains she wakes, and quick sets free,
The darkened soul,

Yet still has but a cold and borrowed light,
Like moonshine pale,
If the heart’s breath of life be wanting quite,
If warm love fail!

We have already repeatedly shown the beautiful and intimate relation which bound Lepsius to his father, and pointed out how zealously he ever tried to impart to his father everything that could please or interest him. He never forgot what he owed to the guide of his youth and childhood,--and it was not little. Above all others, the gift which he had received from his father was the strong love of truth and order by which he was distinguished. It was not only that this lightened his most difficult labors, but it rather made many of them possible. Hand in hand with this went the painstaking accuracy with which he worked. He never laid aside anything which was not entirely completed and finished up to the last detail. Thence it comes, for example, that the second and third volumes of his chronology, announced in the preface, were never published. He had begun important preparatory works for them, but as these were not entirely finished he only gave them to the press in detached monographs, which he could regard as completed. If, with the exception of the Decree of Canopus, and a portion of the seventeenth chapter of the Book of the Dead, we possess no continuous translation of hieroglyphic texts by him, this circumstance is also to be explained by his dislike to letting anything leave his hand and go to press which contained flaws or was not perfectly completed and filled out. All that he translated from ancient Egyptian into German gives the most sufficient evidence of his mastery of this branch also, but the critical philologist never prevailed upon himself to deliver a line which was only half known as one that was known. The fragment of his translation of the “Book of the Dead” which we have previously mentioned, and which has for its basis a critical comparison of all the texts obtainable, shows much greater ability than the translation of the entire “Book of the Dead” which has recently been prematurely attempted by a later Egyptologist.

It would be an error to call Lepsius a genius. He lacked the strong imagination, the winged creative power which achieves feats that soar beyond the conception of men of pure understanding, as well as the indifference to the things of this world and the ardent temperament of a genius. But he was a man of talent of the first order, with wonderful intensity of intellect, and the rarest strength of will and capability for learning and work. Besides this he was not only, as his wife said, an “_homme comme il faut_,” that is, a man fitted to appear in society, but also the model of a scholar, and what is more, of a man. It is true that warm feeling is necessary for the latter, and we remain true to our conviction that he possessed this.

In his Parisian diary, which was intended for himself alone, he tells of the fall of a platform on the occasion of a public festival. A boy, who was a stranger to him, was injured by it; he took him in his carriage, and subsequently wrote: “I held him afterwards for a long time in my arms, so that at least he should see something of the unveiling of the statue.” On the 25th of July, 1834, he wrote in the same journal: “A disagreeable and entirely unfounded slander will perhaps put an end to my Egyptian project,” and immediately afterwards: “Heap coals of fire on the head of thy enemy.”

This is what we call “kind-hearted,” this is christian in the right sense of the word. He had absolute control of the property and never restricted the beneficence of his wife, half of whose life was devoted to the care of the poor and the like occupations. Even such sums as five hundred thalers he willingly gave away when it was a question of saving a poor family. Just as he visited me as a teacher, and gave me a portion of his precious time, when a protracted illness prevented my going out of the house, so did he seek out in the hospital a needy scholar as soon as he heard of his severe illness, and there extend to him the most cordial assistance, though the young man had never been personally intimate with him, and had not been, like me, recommended to him by a Grimm. And how many such things, which never came to my knowledge, could be told of him!

Although those who cling to the letter of the faith would not approve his Christianity, yet his life was a truly christian one. He ever made an open confession of faith in God and Christ, he took, whenever he felt the need for it, the holy sacrament, he experienced in himself the blessings which Christianity had brought into the world, he recognized them in history, and he allowed his children to be educated by his pious wife without opposition. He declared to her, to Trumpp, and to others, that the highest duty of human beings was “to love God above all others, and one’s neighbor as oneself.” The new conquests of natural science had no power to shake his faith in God, although he followed them with interest after two of his sons had devoted themselves to such studies. When doubts arose in him he imposed upon his own acute mental powers the task of dissipating them, and an interesting composition was found among his papers, in which he attempts to subvert the two principal propositions in an eloquent masterpiece of Bois-Reymond’s[104] which had disturbed his mind.

There has gone to the grave in Lepsius a true man, a noble and admirable human being, and, (if we except the last years of his life) a fortunate one; a man who was among the greatest, most zealous, and most successful scholars of his time, and whose name and works will outlast the centuries. We will close this biography with the earnest and reverential words addressed to us by G. Maspero, the greatest of living French Egyptologists and the worthy successor of Mariette in the guardianship of all the monuments and excavations in Egypt, after he had received the intelligence of the departure of our Senior Master.

“_Lepsius_,” he says, “_était un des derniers survivants de notre âge héroique, et il avait été pendant longtemps nôtre maître à tous. Je ne demande qu’une chose pour mon compte: c’est que plus tard au moment où l’on en sera venu à dire pour moi ce que je dis pour lui, on puisse affirmer que j’ai fait pour la science la moitié de ce qu’il a fait pour elle._”

APPENDIX I.

THE GÖTTINGEN INSURRECTION.

GÖTTINGEN, _Dec. 8th-9th (1830)_,
ABOUT TWO O’CLOCK AT NIGHT.

I finally despatched the letter in which I wrote you of the
mutterings of the revolution; it broke out here at midday, with the
striking of the twelve o’clock bell. There was a great outcry on
the streets. “Revolution, Revolution!” they shouted; we rushed to
the market-place, which was already filled with citizens and
students; they stormed the town-hall and occupied it; in a trice
all the booths were torn down and the goods packed up in the
greatest haste. I hurried to my friend Kreiss, the Frenchman, whose
windows look directly on the market-place and the town-hall. It was
a remarkable scene; above and below, here, there, and everywhere,
glittered sabres and rifles; guards were posted on the steps which
led to the colonnade in front of the town-hall. Men in black, with
long green, blue and red sashes, bustled about under the colonnade,
and looked consequential; one man was carrying away a pole with a
big piece of sail-cloth; they tore it from him and wanted to use it
for a banner, and there was a great deal of laughing and joking. A
number of details, to be seen and heard at every step, I cannot
mention here. More guns appeared, sabres, broadswords, rapiers,
muskets, rifles, pistols, clubs; every man armed himself and they
all rushed to the town-hall, to inscribe their names blindly on the
lists. These were presented to the citizens and students by the
chief revolutionists, especially a Dr. v. Rauschenblatt, who had
quarrelled publicly with Professor Hugo, and had been forbidden to
read with the students. No one knew what he wanted, or what the
spectacle was for. Westphal, the superintendent of police,
immediately resigned his office, to prevent acts of violence. As
far as I could hear, the citizens particularly demanded a better
observance of the constitution and its improvement. They wished
that the authorities should render an account of the revenues,
which they had neglected to do for a number of years, that the high
taxes should be reduced, and the excise abolished. So said those
who had anything at all to say. V. Rauschenblatt with his aids had
long since been denounced by the burghers, and therefore sought to
win over the students. He made fiery revolutionary speeches in the
town-hall. “The rule of Liberalism,” “Overthrow of Servilism
throughout the land,” and such like general phrases appealing to
the ear, were constantly repeated, and it was plain to see that
this eccentric man in thus stirring up the people either had no
clear and rational grasp of the situation, or else was pursuing his
own egotistical aims. After a while none but armed men were allowed
to sign; all the shops where swords were sold were bought out,
there was no one left without some sort of weapon. I should often
have been forced to laugh at all this hocus-pocus and madness, if I
had not been vexed at it, for so far I did not believe that it
would lead to any serious consequences.

Then they marched in rank and file to v. Poten, the commandant of
the city, to demand that the military, who had been ordered out
for this evening, should not be admitted, and that a National Guard
should be organized. This was conceded. The citizens remained at
the town-hall, the students went to another spot, where v.
Rauschenblatt divided them into bands, and assigned them the senior
members of the societies for leaders. It was reported everywhere
that Professor Langenbeck would place himself at their head, but
there were still very few of them who knew where, how or why. All
the students actually assembled in front of Langenbeck’s house, and
hurrahed for him, with a frightful clamor and clashing of swords.
He showed himself at the window, and begged them all to sign
together. Meanwhile the gate had long been closed and guarded, the
soldiers had been dismissed, and were keeping quiet. When three
hundred had signed, (and I among them, as the sole object was to
keep peace and order,) v. Rauschenblatt came up with some of his
adherents, and assured everybody that it was no longer necessary to
sign: the only object was to lead the people astray, and to make
use of them once more for the promotion of “Servilism.” They did
not need court counsellors at their head to lead them: every one
who signed here was faithless to his previous signing at the
town-hall, and deserted the true cause, and so on; also no one must
go at seven o’clock to the Rohns, (an inn and meeting-hall) whither
the court counsellor Langenbeck had summoned us all. By this time
it was already dark, all the streets were full of tumult. Heads
were thick in the market-place. At the town-hall stood the
musicians and played the Marseillaise, and then again God save the
King, and then Lützow’s hunting song, and the barcarolle, and
students’ songs. The crowd continually hurrahed and shouted and
howled. I passed once over the piazza before the town-hall, always
with a broadsword of course, for without it one could not get
through anywhere. Rauschenblatt was standing above, and giving one
_vivat_ after another for freedom and equality. It was nearly seven
o’clock. As I passed the demagogue I asked him “which way,” for we
had heard of some other place where the revolutionists were
assembling. “Only not to the Rohns,” he said hastily, “we will now
march round the town.” Then the music had to go in front, and the
whole crowd behind it. Wherever they passed they cried, “Bring out
the lights!” The market-place had been already illuminated for a
long time. Meanwhile it snowed hard. Soldiers had several times
come before the gates, but because these were locked, and Poten
himself ordered them off, they went away again. Then it struck
seven, and I, always a good citizen, hastened with my friends to
the Rohns. At first there were few there; the music had drawn most
of the people to the other side, but it filled up more and more. I
could already hear how the men were dividing up into different
parties, for it was easy to understand that the revolutionists
would disturb us. Now came Langenbeck and summoned us to form a
national guard to maintain peace and order as they had done in
Leipsic. Then a couple of violent brawlers took sides against him,
and would hear nothing of it; “We shall join the townspeople,” they
cried, “Here we are citizens! We don’t want to be nothing but
academicians!” and so on. Langenbeck became undecided in his
utterances, he did not wish to hear of any meddling with politics,
they must let the townsmen do as they liked, not oppose them and
not help them. But he had not presence of mind enough to give his
opinions positively and strongly. Then Rauschenblatt pushed through
the crowd, and Langenbeck became much confused. They got into a
violent altercation, a fearful din was raised on all sides, we
hurrahed for Langenbeck and the other men for Rauschenblatt, sabres
and broadswords were drawn, so that the whole hall clattered; an
instantaneous reflection of it would have made a splendid picture.
I will not make you anxious by telling how I came forward and
expressed my opinion, but it must be remembered that so far there
had been no danger, as in the whole town there was no longer any
one for the rioters to turn against, and therefore there was no
bloody disturbance of the peace to fear. Some shots which were
fired gave a little anxiety, but amounted to nothing. Langenbeck
then got up on the table, but did not stay long on this platform
and went away; he certainly might have managed his affairs better.
Rauschenblatt now spoke much more forcibly and coherently--at least
it sounded so to the ear; at the same time he brandished his
pistols and talked of traitors, and then he went away too. But a
great many were still left. They had not seen Langenbeck go out; he
was loudly called for, for the men there were mostly his followers;
the few revolutionists who remained only interrupted at intervals
the appropriate and forcible remarks of the tutor, Göschen, who had
now climbed on to the table and continued to speak in the same
strain as Langenbeck. He bade them resolve above all to preserve
peace and order for this night. Meanwhile the seniors of the
societies had already come to an agreement, had set a main watch,
and then sent out sentinels and patrols. On the whole the temper of
the students seemed to have moderated, and our party to have
increased in comparison with the revolutionists, who had at first
been much more numerous. Then we went to Göschen’s (that is, some
acquaintances and I) and eat our supper. Afterwards we went again
to Langenbeck, who had meanwhile been to the main watch with the
tutor, to take him again to the Rohns, as had been decided on. But
this was not done, and we now set a watch in Langenbeck’s
auditorium which is at the side of his house, stationed a guard of
twelve men round his house, and took turns in patrolling through
the town. Who goes there? Patrol or sentinel of the night watch, or
this or that, was perpetually resounding through the streets; a
drunken citizen was escorted home, we visited guards and gates, in
short until two o’clock I was constantly on my legs, and now I am
writing this to you immediately. But what I wish is that you should
have no anxiety about me, for indeed I am not wanting in prudence;
besides the whole affair up to now has not taken on any dangerous
character, because there is no object for it. To-morrow, or rather
early to-day, about nine o’clock we are to be at the Rohns again.

SUNDAY, MIDDAY,
ABOUT ONE O’CLOCK.

Langenbeck’s guard has long been removed. The societies join the
citizens under the seniors and Rauschenblatt. Langenbeck had still
a large party at the Rohns this morning at nine o’clock; he called
delegates from the societies into his house, where several
professors were assembled. The seniors who came, (there were but
few of them) seemed to have become more moderate. Then Langenbeck
went once more to the town-hall. There were assembled in the senate
chamber the deputies of the town and other citizens and students,
who now played quite a rôle. We guarded the door; Rauschenblatt,
Dr. Schuster, Eyting and other revolutionists were inside;
Langenbeck wished to come to an understanding with them, and
stayed in there a long time, there was a very violent dispute, but
he came out again without having settled anything, and he said
himself that he must now withdraw, and that his party had
dissolved. I, and most of my friends except Gravenhorst, will join
nobody, not even the societies.--At the same time a general
revolution has broken out all over Hanover. If it becomes more
serious here I will perhaps leave the town, but so far there has
been no danger; and perhaps the whole revolution will pass over
quietly. I will write to you soon again, until then

YOUR RICHARD.

Among the letters to his father is the certificate signed by General von dem Busche, which permitted Lepsius to remain longer in Göttingen. For many students this tempest in a tea-pot was to have very disagreeable consequences, for a rescript from the King dated January 11th, 1831, commanded all Hanoverian subjects studying in Göttingen to leave the town immediately. Those who should remain in spite of this were deprived of all right to any situation in the public service of the King. The foreigners among the students were also expelled, and could only obtain permission for a longer stay by means of special intercessions. “Above all” the lectures were stopped until Easter.

APPENDIX II.

LEPSIUS’ REPORT TO THE BERLIN ROYAL ACADEMY OF SCIENCES ON THE
COMMENCEMENT OF HIS EGYPTOLOGICAL STUDIES.

Somewhat more than a year and a half ago I began the study of Egyptian antiquity by the path which had been substantially opened to modern science, and firmly trodden by her, since Champollion’s important discoveries regarding phonetic hieroglyphs. I did so with a generally diffused doubt as to the soundness of the new doctrine which had been almost exclusively founded and embraced by a French scholar. The system of Champollion was a purely empirical one, which had not yet been reduced to order. It affirmed more than it proved, and appealed to me less at the beginning, in proportion as I had become accustomed in those of my previous studies which related especially to philology, to seek organic coherence in science, and only to admit as a foundation there for reasons of intrinsic worth. I began with the _Précis hiéroglyphique_, as the most comprehensive statement of the new discovery, and found on every side assertions which seemed to me undemonstrable, and evidence which seemed to me imperfect. I reserved to myself some doubts as to the reading of the names Ptolemy and Berenice, which would need to be solved to satisfy reasonable criticism. But in the phonetic hieroglyphs the substitution of the vowels seemed to me too arbitrary, and the mixing of the phonetic with the figurative and symbolical hieroglyphs, to represent one and the same word, seemed quite inadmissable. In my earlier palaeographic researches amongst occidental and oriental writings I had always found the strictest economy and a surprising significance in the original signs for the sounds, united with an accuracy which has hitherto been far too little regarded. But here I had to accustom myself to a superfluity, I might say a prodigality, of signs, which yet only imperfectly attained their object, and therefore seemed so much the more to be chosen arbitrarily and multiplied in a chaotic manner.

Nevertheless, I did not allow myself to be discouraged from proceeding further, because at the same time I saw plainly that there were many things which were incontestably correct, and I also believed that I had found a coherence in the system, and several isolated proofs of it, which had escaped the discoverer himself. Thence I began to believe that it was a question of method, and that it was only necessary to separate the certain from the uncertain in order to make clear the true condition of affairs, and the real extent of what had so far been achieved on this field. Here other workers had preceded me, some of whom sided with and some against Champollion. More especially since the French Expedition an immense literature has begun to investigate, describe, and profit by every aspect of Old and New Egypt. By making myself as thoroughly as possible acquainted with this, I endeavored to keep myself as free as possible from a one-sided apprehension and criticism of hieroglyphics, and of Egyptian learning in general, so far as it rests upon native authorities.

A problem which was to be solved above all others concerned the Coptic language. Even the purely historical researches in the “_Recherches sur la langue et la littérature de l’Égypte_” by Etienne Quatremére had not been able to satisfy me regarding the identity of this tongue with the ancient Egyptian, or, at least, its direct descent therefrom. But on a closer acquaintance with this language, and its application on the hieroglyphic and demotic monuments, every doubt must be dispelled as to its being the sole key to the ancient language of the Egyptians, and the only one which could lead to the end in view. I have since applied myself chiefly to the study of the Coptic language, to which I also felt myself especially attracted by my previous linguistic studies. Within a few days there have arrived in Paris the last sheets of a Coptic lexicon which has been prepared from the most copious sources by Amadeo Peyron, and shows extensive learning. From the first I have directed my labors on the Coptic tongue to the end of preparing a grammar of that language, especially intended to lighten the study of hieroglyphics, and in accordance with the philological science of the present day.

In order to give you, most highly esteemed Herr General Secretary, a comprehensive idea of the course of my studies up to the present time in the department in question, I must further mention two circumstances, which were especially favorable to me. One was my sojourn in Paris, which is the place altogether best adapted to obtaining an initiation into Egyptian antiquity. The first broad foundation for this science was laid on the part of the French in the “_Description de l’Égypte_.” A French scholar first procured access to the native monuments of Egypt, and for a number of years he was the center of Egyptian studies on account of his admirable talent, which seemed made for the deciphering of the Egyptian monuments. I need not say that for these reasons there can be no lack in Paris of the most perfect aids to study, as regards both literature and monuments. But that to which I attribute yet greater weight is that there is always a large number of men assembled there who take the most lively and direct interest in the discoveries of their countryman, and are in a position to give thorough information, generally directed by their own opinions, on all the different parts and details. They were frequently more instructive to me through their conversation than any books could have been. I often felt there the great value of the _viva voce_ correction of many unavoidable errors in the judgment of persons, objects and facts. These are of far greater importance in so young a science than in one which has been long founded. As a second favorable circumstance I would mention my early acquaintance with a young, learned and talented man, François Salvolini. For ten years he educated himself exclusively for the study of hieroglyphics under the personal direction of Champollion, he took copies of the most important drawings and manuscript works of his teacher, part of which are still inaccessible to the public, and with the greatest liberality he opened to me his important collections, and allowed me the freest use of them. Under the auspices of the Sardinian government he is occupying himself with a comprehensive work on the Rosetta inscriptions, specimens of which he communicated to me. He also gave me a verbal explanation of the details. I thus became acquainted in the most rapid and thorough manner with the real value of the system of Champollion, and the development which it has thus far attained. It is true that the principal doubts which I had entertained were not entirely removed, but I believed in the difficulties which still remained to see, not a refutation of the system, but only a want of completeness. Especially I became aware that many difficulties might be removed when some other linguistic standpoint than that previously employed should be adopted.

At the same time it seemed to me of the greatest importance to come to a positive opinion as to the relation of the Egyptian language to the other civilized languages of the ancient world, and to my great satisfaction I have now arrived at the conviction that the primitive Egyptian language is by no means so far removed from the Semitic and Indo-Germanic as, on a superficial examination, it has hitherto been almost universally considered. I believe that I shall not in all subsequent investigations into Egyptian antiquity allow myself to lose sight of this comparative point of view, since the great interest which the history of Egyptian civilization offers, as one of the most ancient of which we have a general historical knowledge, is without doubt greatly increased when we learn to know it also in its original relation to other civilizations. It also seems to me a worthy and useful task to draw the Egyptian people within the circle of those great groups of nations, whose most ancient history has in modern times acquired an altogether different aspect by means of the comparison of languages. I propose to preface my Coptic grammar with a special chapter on the relation of the Egyptian to the Semitic and Indo-Germanic primitive languages. I most respectfully beg you, Herr General Secretary, to present to the most favorable consideration of the very worshipful Academy two treatises in which I have attempted to prove the linguistic relationship of these two families of language. These papers treat of distinct points which would find no place in the Coptic Grammar. The first relates to the numerical words, the second to the arrangement of the alphabet, among the different nations.

Thus I have chiefly made use of my sojourn in Paris to acquire a general knowledge of Egyptian science, and am thereby placed in a position to adopt a decided course for the future according to the needs which seem to me most urgent, and to those abilities of my own which I believe to have been best developed by my previous studies. Therefore it now becomes a matter of special importance, in order to arrive at the best possible conclusions of my own, to procure correct copies of the numerous Egyptian monuments scattered about through the various French museums, and especially in Italy.

To undertake a journey to Italy for this purpose must be all the more desirable for me since a corresponding member of the Academy, whose name will always be mentioned beside that of Champollion as one of the most distinguished promoters of Egyptian science, H. P. Rosellini of Pisa, has offered, with the most noble disinterestedness, to reveal to me the rich treasures which he has brought back from Egypt, and, under his own invaluable guidance, to place them at my service.

Since I could not have been able to undertake this journey on my own resources, I have to thank the resolves of the most worshipful Academy alone, if I can directly pursue the object which is the aim of my scientific career. I must appreciate the more profoundly the special encouragement which I have thus received as up to the present time I have been able to present no sort of security on my part to the most worshipful Academy. For this reason I will make all the more conscientious use of the appropriation granted me. I will from time to time lay before the most worshipful Academy an account of the expenditure thereof, and seek to prove myself worthy of the confidence which has been shown me by the greatest zeal in the promotion of this most fruitful science, which has been so little cultivated in our own country.

With the most distinguished esteem and respect.

RICHARD LEPSIUS.

APPENDIX III.

EXTRACT FROM THE REPORT ADDRESSED TO THE MINISTRY, ON THE
ACQUISITIONS AND RESULTS OF THE EXPEDITION TO EGYPT UNDER R.
LEPSIUS.

BERLIN, _March 12, 1846_.

The antiquarian Expedition to Egypt, Nubia and the Peninsula of Sinai, ordered in the year 1842 by his Majesty, our most gracious and illustrious King Frederick William IV., and committed to my leadership, is completed.

My reports, transmitted to your Excellency from time to time, will have convinced you that it has been executed entirely in accordance with the plans advised by the Royal Academy of Sciences, most graciously approved by his Majesty, and submitted to your Excellency before departure. You will also observe that the annual sum of money appropriated at the beginning has not been exceeded, and that it has also been made to cover the important excavations, transportations and purchases, for which no special appropriation had been made. The journey of two years has, however, extended itself to three and a half. My companions were not able to return before the end of last year, and I myself not till the 27th of January of this year; a possibility which had been already foreseen in the advice of the Royal Academy.