BOOKS.

PROFESSOR MAX MOLLER.* To those who take an interest in the study of their fellow- mortals there is no kind of book more attractive than an auto- biography. Even if insincere, one obtains glimpses of the real man between the lines, and however uneventful the life may be, it is interesting to learn what a man thinks of himself although the world may not have thought much of him; and in the case of distinguished men who owe their distinction to their own exertions the record cannot fail to be curious and instructive. It is remarkable how few attain distinction when the road is smooth before them. Poverty, obscurity, even ill- health, are not insuperable obstacles, but, on the contrary, seem to strengthen the muscles of the mind and will, and lead on to victory. The Life before us is an instance. In his intro- duction the author writes that he proposes to relate- " How a boy, born and educated in a small and almost un- known town in Germany, came to England and was chosen to edit the oldest book in the world (the Veda. of the Brahmans, never published before in India or in Europe), passed the beat part of his life in the most famous University in England, and actually ended as a member of Her Majesty's Privy Council."

One element in his success the author naturally does not mention, his extraordinary personal charm, which inclined all who approached him to love and serve him. Unfortunately, like most autobiographies, the one before us does not extend beyond early days, but this was the period of struggle and hardship ; when once he had gained a position at Oxford all was comparatively easy, and soon afterwards the fragment ends.

His father, Wilhelm Muller, was librarian of the Ducal Library of Dessau, and one of the most popular poets in Germany. His portrait is that of a handsome, dreamy young man with large melancholy eyes and a sensitive mouth. He was barely thirty-three when he died, leaving an almost heart- broken young widow and a boy and girl,—the boy Max was only four years old. He adored his mother. " She was certainly most beautiful," he writes, " not only in the eyes of her son, but of everybody She had a perfect voice, and when I began music encouraged me in every possible way. I was never so happy as when I could be with her." The few years of her married life had been bright and brilliant. William Miller's home was the rallying-point for all the culti- vated, scientific, and artistic society of Dessau, attracted by the simple and truly genial disposition of the master of the house. His professional income was minute, the thought of saving money never entered his poetical mind, and after his unexpected death it was found that hardly any provision was left for the family. " It has been a riddle to me," her son writes, "ever since how my mother brought us up. It could only have been done in a small town like Dessau where education was as good as it was cheap."

Max Muller gives a very attractive account of the little residenz, which puts one in mind of Goethe's Weimar, or

Thackeray's Pumpernickel. Food was extraordinarily cheap,— beef 3d. a pound, mutton 2d., salmon 2id. No one ate white bread, only black or brown :— " My mother's relations, who were all high up in the public service —my grandfather, President von Basedow, was the Duke's Prime Minister—made life more easy and pleasant for us, but for many

years my mother never went into society . She took her children day after day to the beautiful Gottesdeber, when she stood for hours at our father's grave and sobbed and cried. When my mother said she wished to die and to be with our father we were only anxious that she should take us with her. I see her now, sitting in our little room near the stove, a candle on the table and a devotional book from which she read to us in her hands while the spinning wheel worked by our maid went on humming But willingly as I listened to these read- ings, and full as my heart was of love to Christ, I suffered intensely when I was taken to church. It was bitterly cold, and though I liked the singing, the sermon was real torture to

me Why does no new prophet arise, and say as David did, sermons and long prayers thou. didst not desire' ? Fortu- nately the religions instruction at home and at school was excel- lent, and undid most of the mischief."

The Jewish quarter in Dessau showed greater comfort than in most German towns. " No one hated the Jews," Max Muller says, "as they were fifty years ago. They lived very

• My Autobiography : a Fragment. By the Bight Hon. Professor F. Max Mailer, H.M. London : Longman and Co. [Lis. &LI

quietly, and excited no envy. Now, with their titles, and stars, and orders, all is changed. Hence the revolution of feeling I doubt whether there is anything religious in it What helped to keep the peace in Dessau and in other parts of Germany was the small number of newspapers. They were read for the news they contained, not for leading or misleading articles." He profited greatly by the excellent education at the high school, although hindered by severe and frequent headaches ; and he was no worse in the long-run for the hardships incidental to a German school, where he awoke with his breath frozen on the bed-clothes to a sheet of ice, and only a few drops of water were left unfrozen

at the bottom of his jug. They had no time for ablution or illness. " One blessing," he says," this early roughing has left me for life,—a power of enjoying things which are a matter of course to others. The dark background

has only served to make my later years brighter and warmer." At twelve years old his mother wisely thought that it was best for him to be with other boys and under the supervision of a man. He was accordingly sent to the house of Professor Carus in Leipsic to attend the Nicholai School with his son. The teaching, again, was admirable, but almost entirely devoted to classics. " With all that has been said," he writes, " against retaining classical studies in their time- honoured position nothing has yet been suggested to take their place In order to know what we are, we have to learn how we have come to be what we are. Our very languages form an unbroken chain between us and Cicero and Aristotle, and in order to use our words intelligently we must know the soil from which they sprang and the atmosphere which developed them." During his stay at Leipsic his chief delight was in music. He was intimate with Mendelssohn, at whose house he met almost all the great musicians of the day, notably Liszt, of whose airs and graces he gives an amusing description.

A magnificent offer was made to Max Milner at this time by Baron von Hagedorn, an old friend of his mother's :— " He often gave me good advice, and was more of a father than a friend. He was also a great friend of my cousin, who was married to a Prince of Dessau, and they agreed that I should go to the Oriental Academy at Vienna and then enter the diplomatic service. As the Prince had no children I was to be adopted by him, and even a wife had been chosen for me. and I was to have a new name and a title I shook my head and remained true to my first love, Sanskrit. Hagedorn could not understand this, he thought a brilliant life preferable to the quiet life of a Professor. Not so I. He did not live long. I shall never forget how much I owe him."

It seems almost incredible that Max Miiller should not have been dazzled by this offer, for he tells us that he "possessed abso- lutely nothing but what he was able to earn." To enable him to pass into the University of Leipsic, in which no boarders are admitted, his mother and sister came to live in the town. He gives a long and very interesting account of his studies in philosophy and philology. He enjoyed all the fun of the Burschen, fought a duel, would not go into society, and became, as he says, more or less of a bear. In order to attend the lectures of Bopp and make Schelling's acquaint- ance he went in 1844 to Berlin, and thence, on Rage- dorn's invitation, in 1845 to Paris, where he. made many valuable friends, notably Barthelemy St. Hilaire, Renan,

and, above all, Burnout in whom, he says, he put " per- fect trust, and was really aux cieux to have found such an adviser." With one of his companions, Karl von Schlozer,

he was intimate all his life. This young man actually baffled Bismarok, whom he challenged when under him in the Diplomatic Service. The great man, of course, declined, and soon afterwards Schlozer was dismissed the Service. He had to pay a farewell visit to the Minister, who asked him what he was going to do P " To write my memoirs," he replied. " You know I have seen much whioh people will be interested to hear." Bismarck pondered. He knew that Schlozer could wield a sharp pen. At length he looked up and said " You would not care to go to the United States as Minister ? " " I am ready to go to-morrow," answered Schlozer, and he went. There were some MSS. in the East India Company's museum which Max Muller felt he must consult. He accord- ingly pinched himself till he had saved enough to visit London, and in June, 1846, he set out. He had never before seen the sea, which " filled him with unbounded rapture." Once on board he collapsed, and huddled himself up in a corner of the deck. There he was found by a young English traveller, who comforted him, laughed at him, and took charge of him and his luggage, gave him a bed for the night, and found

lodgings for him next morning. This good Samaritan was William Russell, the Times correspondent. He looked after him all the time he was in London, and they remained firm

friends for life. It struck Max Miller that he ought to call on Bunsen, the Prussian Minister. " This acquaintance," he says, " was to become the turning point of my life. If I owed much to Burnouf, how can I tell what I owed to Bunsen P I was amazed at the kindness with which he received me." The attraction was mutual. In her Life of her husband Madame Bunsen wrote : " The kindred mind, their sympathy of heart, the unity in highest aspirations, a congeniality in principles, a fellowship in the pursuit of favourite objects, rendered this connection the happiest of Bunsen's life." In earlier days Bunsen had him- self proposed to edit the " Veda," but the friendship of the Prince of Prussia (afterwards Frederick William IV.) put an end to his student life, and he drifted into politics and diplomacy. But his interest in the " Veda " had not died out, and his young friend brought him " the MSS. I had copied and collated so that I could show him the very book he had been in search of. This opened his heart. ' I am glad,' he said, ' to have lived to see the " Veda." Whatever you want let me know. I look upon you as myself grown young again." Bunsen's interest took a practical turn :—

He saw that the East India Company ought to undertake the work. He pointed out to them the disgrace it would be if some other country published this edition of the Sacred Books of the Brahmans. Professor Wilson, the librarian of the Company, supported the project, and at last, not quite a year after my arrival in England, the Company promised to bear the expense

of printing, and meanwhile enable me to live in London Bunsen was also my social sponsor. He invited me to his parties, and when I first saw the Magnificent rooms crowded with Ministers, Dukes, and Bishops, and with ladies in their grandest dresses, I was as in a dream."

All the celebrities were pointed out to him. " How I was able to swim," he says, "in this new stream, I can hardly under- stand, but Bunsen taught me the conventionalities of society, and his pupil did his best to conform to all the British social

institutions." In 1847 Bunsen took him to the meeting of the British Association at Oxford and forced him to read a paper on the la guages of India. He was enchanted with Oxford,

where he received a warm welcome and arranged that the "Rig-Veda" should be printed at the University Press. He saw that it would be better if he himself were on the spot, and he decided to migrate to Oxford; besides he felt he was getting too gay in London, and in order to fulfil his social engage- ments had to get up to work at five o'clock. In the following May, therefore, he took a little lodging in the beautiful old

town, which was to be his home for the remainder of his life. Those were the days when married Fellows were not, when

ladies were few, and perambulators unknown. There are more good stories about the distinguished men in high positions in Oxford than of any other conspicuous person. ages, an 1 Max Muller quotes many of them, but they are too well known to take up the limited space at our command. He gives pleasant little sketches of the younger and older friends whom he made at this time (he himself was only twenty-four),—Palgrave, Grant, Morier, Johnson, Matthew Arnold, Arthur Stanley, Thomson, and many others

"When I think of these men," he writes, "whom I remember as young men, very able and hardworking no doubt, yet not so entirely different from others who through life remained un- known, it is as if I had slept through a number of years and had then suddenly awoke to a new life. Some I always found the same, whether in ermine or lawn sleeves, others had become something, the old boy had vanished, and nothing was to be seen except the Bishop, the Judge, or the Minister."

Of the High Church movement and doctrines

" What was my surprise when I found that most of these excellent and really learned men were much more interested in the validity of Anglican orders, in the wearing of gowns or surplices, in the question of candlesticks and genuflexions. What has this to do with true religion,' I said to dear Johnson. ' God has to be served by very different things, and there is danger of the formal prevailing over the essential.' The validity of Anglican orders was often discussed, and I, no doubt, gave great offence by openly declaring that I considered Luther a better channel for the transmission of the Holy Ghost than Caesar Borgia or even Wolsey."

The secrecy of the High Church party as to their real objects, he tells us, shocked him, and what he believed to be the want

of truth when they thought a good end to be obtained. The book ends with what the author calls his confession:— "One confession I have to make, and one for which I can hardly hope for absolution, whether from my friends or from my enemies. I have never done anything; I have never been a doer, a canvasser, a wirepuller, a manager, in the ordinary sense of these words. I have also shrunk from agitation, from clubs, from cliques, even from most respectable associations and societies. Many people would call me an idle, useless, and indolent man, and though I have not wasted many hours of my life, I cannot deny the charge that I have neither fought battles, nor helped to conquer new countries, nor joined any syndicate to roll up a fortune. I have been a scholar, a StubengeLehrte and voila tout !"