IN the present century in Germany we
have seen a period of almost unparalleled literary glory succeeded by a time
of great commercial prosperity and national enthusiasm. But when Ferrier
visited that country in 1834 the era of its intellectual greatness had
hardly passed away; some, at least, of its stars remained, and others had
very recently ceased to be. Goethe had died just two years before, but Heine
lived till many years afterwards; amongst the philosophers, though Kant and
Fichte, of course, were long since gone, Schelling was still at work at
Munich, and Hegel lived at Berlin till November of 1831, when he was cut off
during an epidemic of cholera. Most of the great men had disappeared, and
yet the memory of their achievements still survived, and the impetus they
gave to thought could not have been lost. The traditional lines of
speculation consistently carried out since Reformation days had survived war
and national calamity, and it remained to be seen whether the greater tests
of prosperity and success would be as triumphantly undergone.
We can imagine Ferrier's feelings when this new world
opened up before him, a Scottish youth, to whom it was a new, untrodden
country. It may be true that it was his literary rather than his speculative
affinities that first attracted him to Germany. To form in literature he
always attached the greatest value, and to the end his interest in letters
was only second to his attachment to philosophy. German poetry was to him
what it was to so many of the youth of the country from which it came— the
expression of their deepest, and likewise of their freshest aspiration. The
poetry of other countries and other tongues—English and Latin, for
example—meant much to him, but that of Germany was nearest to his heart.
French learning did not attract him; neither its literature nor its
metaphysics and psychological method appealed to his thoughtful, analytic
mind; but in Germany he found a nation which had not as yet resigned its
interest in things of transcendental import in favour of what pertained to
mere material welfare.
Such was the Germany into which Ferrier came in 1834.
He did not, so far as we can hear, enter deeply into its social life; he
visited it as a traveller, rather than as a student, and his stay in it was
brief. Considering the shortness of his time there, and the circumstances of
his visit, the impression that it made upon him is all the more remarkable,
for it was an impression that lasted and was evident throughout all his
after life. Since his day, indeed, it would be difficult to say how many
young Scotsmen have been impressed in a similar way by a few months'
residence at a University town in Germany. For partly owing to Ferrier's own
efforts, and perhaps even more owing to the 'boom'—to use a
vulgarism—brought about by Carlyle's writings, and by his first making known
the marvels of German literature to the ordinary English-speaking public,
who had never learned the language or tried to understand its recent
history, the old traditional literary alliance between Scotland and France
appeared for the time being to have broken down in favour of a similar
association with its rival country, Germany. The work of Goethe was at last
appreciated, nothing was now too favourable to say about its merits;
philosophy was suddenly discovered to have its home in Germany, and there
alone; our insularity in keeping to our antiquated methods—dryasdust, we
were told, as the old ones of the schools, and perhaps as edifying—was
vigorously denounced. Theology, which had hitherto found complete support
from the philosophic system which acted as her handmaid, and was only
tolerated as such, was naturally affected in like manner by the change; and
to her credit be it said, that instead of with averted eyes looking
elsewhere, as might easily have been done, she determined to face the worst,
and wisely asked the question whether in her department too she had not
something she could learn from a sister country across the sea. Hence a
great change was brought about in the mental attitude of Scotland; but we
anticipate.
Ferrier, after leaving Heidelberg, paid a short visit
to Leipzig, and then for a few weeks took up his abode at Berlin. From
Leipzig he writes to Miss Wilson again: "How do you like an epislola dated
from this great emporium of taste and letters, this culminating point of
Germanism, where waggons jostle philosophy, and tobacco- impregnated air is
articulated into divinest music? It is fair-time, and I did not arrive, as
one usually does, a day behind it, but on the very day it commenced. It will
last, I believe, some weeks, and during that time all business is done on
the open streets, which are lined on each side with large wooden booths, and
are swarming with men and merchandise of every description and from every
quarter of the world. It very much resembles a Ladies' Sale in the Assembly
Rooms (what I never saw), only the ladies here are frequently Jews with
fierce beards, and have always a pipe in their mouths when not eating or
drinking. As you walk along you will find the order of the day to be
somewhat as follows. You first come to pipes, then shawls, then nails, then
pipes, pipes again, pipes, gingerbread, dolls, then pipes, bridles, spurs,
pipes, books, warming-pans, pipes, china, writing-desks, pipes again, pipes,
pipes, pipes, nothing but pipes—the very pen will write nothing but pipes.
Pipes, you see, decidedly carry it. I wonder they don't erect public tobacco
-smoke works, lay pipes for it along the streets, and smoke away—a city at a
time. Private families might take it in as we do gas!'
Ferrier appears to have spent a week at Frankfort
before reaching his destination at Leipzig. He describes his journey there:
'At Frankfort I saw nothing worthy of note except a divine statue of Ariadne
riding on a leopard. After lumbering along for two nights and two days in a
clumsy diligence, I reached Leipzig two days ago. I thought that by the way
I might perhaps see something worthy of mention, and accordingly sometimes
put my head out of the window to look. But no—the trees, for instance, had
all to a man planted their heads in the earth, and were growing with their
legs upwards, just as they do with us; and as for the natives, they, on the
contrary, had each of them filled a flower-pot, called a skull, full of
earth, put their heads in it, and were growing downwards, just as the same
animal does in our country; and on coming to one's recollection in the
morning in a German diligence you find yourself surrounded by the same
drowsy, idiotical, glazed, stained, and gummy complement of faces which
might have accompanied you into Carlisle on an autumn morning after a night
of travel in His Majesty's mail coach.'
Berlin impressed Ferrier by its imposing public
buildings and general aspect of prosperity. It had, of course, long before
reached a position of importance under the great Frederick's government,
though not the importance or the size that it afterwards attained. Still, it
was the centre of attraction for all classes throughout Prussia, and
possessed a cultivated society in which the middle- class element was to all
appearances predominant. Ferrier writes of the town: 'Of the inside of the
buildings and what is to be seen there I have nothing yet to say, but their
external aspect is most magnificent. Palaces, churches, mosque -like
structures, spires and domes and towers all standing together, but with
large spaces and fine open drives between, so that all are seen to the
greatest possible advantage, conspire to form a most glorious city. At this
moment a fountain which I can see from my window is playing in the middle of
the square. Ajel d'eau indeed!! It may do very well for a Frenchman to call
it that, but we must call it a perfect volcano of water. A huge column goes
hissing up as high as a steeple, with the speed and force of a rocket, and
comes down in thunder, and little rainbows are flitting about in the showery
spray. It being Sunday, every thing and person is gayer than usual. Bands
are playing and soldiers are parading all through the town; everything,
indeed, is military, and yet little is foppish—a statement which to English
ears will sound like a direct contradiction.'
Our traveller had been given letters to certain Berlin
Professors from young Blackie, afterwards Professor of Greek in Edinburgh
University, who had just translated Goethe's FazisE into the English tongue.
'I went about half an hour ago to call upon a sort of Professor here to whom
I had a letter and a Faust to present from Blackie —found him ill and
confined to bed—was admitted, however, very well received, and shall call
again when I think there is a chance of his being better. I have still
another Professor to call on with a letter and book from Blackie, and there
my acquaintance with the society of Berlin is likely to terminate.' One
other introduction to Ferrier on this expedition to Germany is mentioned in
a note from his aunt, Miss Susan Ferrier, the only letter to her nephew that
has apparently been preserved whether or not he availed himself of the
offer, history does not record. It runs as follows:-
'EDINB., 1st August.
'I could not get a letter to Lord Corehouse's German
sister (Countess Purgstall), as it seems she is in bad health, and not fit
to entertain vagabonds, but I enclose a very kind one from my friend, Mrs.
Erskine, to the ambassadress at Munich, and if you don't go there you may
send it by post, as it will be welcome at any time on its own account.'
It was, as has been said, only about three years
previously to this visit that Hegel had passed away at Berlin, and one
wonders whether Ferrier first began to interest himself in his writings at
this time, and whether he visited the graveyard near the city gate where
Hegel lies, close to his great predecessor Fichte. One would almost think
this last was so from the exact description given in his short biography of
Hegel; and it is significant that on his return he brought with him a
medallion and a photograph of the great philosopher. This would seem to
indicate that his thoughts were already tending in the direction of Hegelian
metaphysics, but how far this was so we cannot tell. Certainly the knowledge
of the German language acquired by Ferrier during this visit to the country
proved most valuable to him, and enabled him to study its philosophy at a
time when translations were practically non-existent, and few had learned to
read it. That knowledge must indeed have been tolerably complete, for in
1851, when Sir Edward Buiwer (afterwards Lord Lytton) was about to republish
his translation of Schillcr's Ballads, he corresponded with Ferrier
regarding the accuracy and exactness of his work. He afterwards, in the
preface to the volume, acknowledges the great services Ferrier had rendered;
and in dedicating the book to him, speaks of the debt of gratitude he owes
to one whose 'critical judgment and skill in detecting the finer shades of
meaning in the original' had been so useful. Ferrier likewise has the
credit, accorded him by De Quincey, of having corrected several errors in
all the English translations of Faust then extant—errors which were not
merely literary inaccuracies, but which also detracted from the vital sense
of the original. As to Lord Lytton, Ferrier must at this time have been
interested in his writings; for in a letter to Miss Wilson, he advises her
to read Bulwer's Pilgrims of the Rhine if she wishes for a description of
the scenery, and speaks of the high esteem with which he was regarded by the
Germans.
It was in 1837 that Ferrier married the young lady with
whom he had so long corresponded. The marriage was in all respects a happy
one. Mrs. Ferrier's gifts and graces, inherited from her father, will not
soon be forgotten, either in St. Andrews where she lived so long, or in
Edinburgh, the later home of her widowhood. One whose spirits were less gay
might have found a husband whose interests were so completely in his
work—and that a work in which she could not share—difficult to deal with;
but she possessed understanding to appreciate that work, as well as humour,
and could accommodate herself to the circumstances in which she found
herself; while he, on his part, entered into the gaiety on occasion with the
best. A friend and student of the St. Andrews' days writes of Ferrier : ' He
married his cousin Margaret, Professor's Wilson's daughter, and I don't
doubt that a shorthand report of their courtship would have been better
worth reading than nine hundred and ninety-nine out of every thousand
courtships, for she had wit as well as beauty, and he was capable of
appreciating both. No more charming woman have I ever seen or heard making
game of mankind in general, and in particular of pedants and hypocrites. She
would even laugh at her husband on occasion, but it was dangerous for any
volunteer to try to help her in that sport. A finer- looking couple I have
never seen.'
During her infancy Edinburgh had become Mrs. Ferrier's
home, though she made frequent visits to Westmorland, of whose dialect she
had a complete command. The courtship, however, had been for the most part
carried on at the picturesque old house of Gorton, where 'Christopher North'
was temporarily residing, and which, situated as it is overlooking the
lovely glen made immortal by the name of Hawthornden, in view of Roslin
Chapel, and surrounded by old-fashioned walks and gardens, must have been an
ideal spot for a romantic couple like the Ferriers to roam in. Another
friend writes of Wilson's later home at Elleray: 'In his hospitable house,
where the wits of Blackwood gathered at intervals and visited individually
in season and out of season, his daughter saw strange men of genius, such as
few young ladies had the fortune to see, and heard talk such as hardly
another has the fortune to hear. Lockhart, with his caricatures and his
incisive sarcasm, was an intimate of the house. The Ettrick Shepherd, with
his plaid and homely Doric, broke in occasionally, as did also De Quincey,
generally towards midnight, when he used to sit pouring forth his
finely-balanced, graceful sentences far on among the small hours of the
morning. There were students, too, year after year, many of them not
undistinguished, and some of whom had, we doubt not, ideas of their own
regarding the flashing hazel eyes of their eloquent Professor's eldest
daughter.' But her cousin was her choice, though wealth offered no
attraction, and neither side had reason to regret the marriage of affection.
At the time of his marriage Ferrier had been practising
at the Bar, probably with no great measure of success, seeing that his heart
was not really set upon his work. It was at this period that he first began
to write, and his first contribution to literature took the form of certain
papers contributed to Black wood's Magazine, the subject being the
'Philosophy of Consciousness.' From that time onwards Ferrier continued to
write on philosophic or literary topics until his death, and many of these
writings were first published in the famous magazine.
Before entering, however, on any consideration of
Ferrier's writings and of the philosophy of the day, it might be worth while
to try to picture to ourselves the social conditions and feelings of the
time, in order that we may get some idea of the influences which surrounded
him, and be assisted in our efforts to understand his outlook.
In the beginning of the nineteenth century Scotland had
been ground down by a strange tyranny—the tyranny of one man as it seemed,
which man was Henry Dundas, first Viscount Melville, who for many long years
ruled our country as few countries have been ruled before. What this'
despotism meant it is difficult for us, a century later, to figure to
ourselves. All offices were dependent on his patronage; it was to him that
everyone had to look for whatever post, advancement, or concession was
required. And Dundas, with consummate power and administrative ability,
moulded Scotland to his will, and by his own acts made her what she was
before the world. But all the while, though unperceived, a new spirit was
really dawning; the principles of the Revolution, in spite of everything,
had spread, and all unobserved the time-spirit made its influence felt below
a surface of apparent calm. It laid hold first of all of the common
people—weavers and the like: it roused these rough, uneducated men to a
sense of wrong and the resolution to seek a remedy. Not much, however, was
accomplished. Some futile risings took place—risings pitiable in their
inadequacy—of hard-working weavers armed with pikes and antiquated muskets.
Of course, such rebels were easily suppressed the leaders were sentenced to
execution or transportation, as the case might be; but though peace
apparently was restored and public meetings to oppose the Government were
rigorously suppressed, trade and manufactures were arising: Scotland was not
really dead, as she appeared. A new life was dawning: reform was in the air,
and in due time made its presence felt. But the memory of these times of
political oppression, when the franchise was the privilege of the few, and
of the few who were entirely out of sympathy with the most part of their
countrymen or their country's wants, remained with the people just as did
the 'Killing-time' of Covenanting days two centuries before. Time heals the
wounds of a country as of an individual, but the operation is slow, and it
is doubtful whether either period of history will ever be forgotten. At any-
rate, if they are so as this century closes, they were not in the Scotland
known to Ferrier; they were still a very present memory and one whose
influence was keenly felt.
And along with this political struggle yet another
struggle was taking place, no less real though not so evident. The religion
of the country had been as dead as was the politics in the century that was
gone—dead in the sleep of Moderatism and indifferentism. But it, too, had
awakened; the evangelical school arose, liberty of church government was
claimed, a liberty which, when denied it, rent the Established Church in
twain.
In our country it has been characteristic that great
movements have usually begun with those most in touch with its inmost life,
the so-called lower orders of its citizens. The nobles and the kings have
rather followed than taken the lead. In the awakening of the present century
this at any rate was the case. 'Society,' so called, remained conservative
in its view for long after the people had determined to advance. Scott, it
must be remembered, was a retrogressive influence. The romanticism of his
novels lent a charm to days gone by which might or might not be deserved;
but they also encouraged their readers to imagine a revival of those days of
chivalry as a possibility even now, when men were crying for their rights,
when they had awakened to a sense of their possessions, and would take
nothing in their place. The real chieftains were no more; they were
imitation chieftains only who were playing at the game, and it was a game
the clansmen would not join in. Few exercises could be more strange than
first to read the account of Scottish life in one of the immortal novels by
Scott dealing with last century, and then to turn to Miss Ferrier or Gait,
depicting a period not so very different. Setting aside all questions of
genius, where comparison would be absurd, it would seem as if a beautiful
enamel had been removed, and a bare reality revealed, somewhat sordid in
comparison. The life was not really sordid,— realism as usual had overshot
its mark,—but the enamel had been somewhat thickly laid, and might require
to be removed, if truth were to be revealed.
So in the higher grades of Edinburgh society the enamel
of gentility has done its best to prejudice us against much true and genuine
worth. It was characterised by a certain conventional unconventionality, a
certain 'preciosity' which brought it near deserving a still stronger name,
and it maintained its right to formulate the canons of criticism for the
kingdom. Edinburgh, it must be recollected, was no 'mean city,' no ordinary
provincial town. It was still esteemed a metropolis. It had its aristocracy,
though mainly of the order of those unable to bear the greater expense of
London life. It had no manufactories to speak of no mercantile class to 'vulgarise'
it; it possessed a University, and the law courts of the nation. But above
all it had a literary society. In the beginning of the century it had such
men as Henry Mackenzie, Dugald Stewart, John Playfair, Dr. Gregory, Dr.
Thomas Brown, not to speak of Scott and Jeffrey—a society unrivalled out of
London. And in later days, when these were gone, others rose to fill their
places.
Of course, in addition to the movement of the working
people, there was an educated protest against Toryism, and it was made by a
party who, to their credit he it said, risked their prospects of advancement
for the principles of freedom. In their days Toryism, we must recollect,
meant something very different from what it might be supposed to signify in
our own. It meant an attitude of obstruction as regards all change from
established standards of whatever kind; it signified a point of view which
said that grievances should be unredressed unless it was in its interest to
redress them. The new party of opposition included in its numbers Whig
lawyers like Gibson Craig and Henry Erskine, in earlier days, and Francis
Jeffrey and Lord Cockburn later on; a party of progress was also formed
within the Church, and the same within the precincts of the University. The
movement, as became a movement on the political side largely headed by
lawyers, had no tendency to violence; it was moderate in its policy, and by
no means revolutionary-indeed it may be doubted whether there ever was much
tendency to revolt even amongst those working men who expressed themselves
most strongly. The advance party, however, carried the day, and when Ferrier
began to write, Scotland was in a very different state from that of twenty
years before. The Reform Bill had passed, and men had the moulding of their
country's destiny practically placed within their hands. In the University,
again, Sir William Hamilton, a Whig, had just been appointed to the Chair of
Logic, while Moncreiff, Chalmers, and the rest, were prominent in the
Church. The traditions of literary Edinburgh at the beginning of the century
had been kept up by a circle amongst whom Lockhart, Wilson, and De Quincey
may be mentioned; now Carlyle, who had left Edinburgh not long before, was
coming into notice, and a new era seemed to be dawning, not so glorious as
the past, but more untrammelled and more free.
How philosophy was affected by the change, and how
Ferrier assisted in its progress, it is our business now to tell; but we
must first briefly sketch the history of Scottish speculation to this date,
in order to show the position in which he found it. |