Part 5

Gradually but surely the end approached. The loss of memory was followed by other symptoms of declining power. The fastenings of his earthly tabernacle were removed one by one, and he looked forward to "the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." This was no new anticipation. Calling on the friend who had long directed with him the affairs of the Institution, but who was then half paralysed, he had said, "Barlow, you and I are waiting; that is what we have to do now; and we must try to do it patiently." He had written to his niece, Mrs. Deacon: "I cannot think that death has to the Christian anything in it that should make it rare, or other than a constant, thought; out of the view of death comes the view of the life beyond the grave, as out of the view of sin (the true and the real view which the Holy Spirit alone can give to a man) comes the glorious hope.... My worldly faculties are slipping away day by day. Happy is it for all of us that the true good lies not in them. As they ebb, may they leave us as little children trusting in the Father of Mercies, and accepting His unspeakable gift." And when the dark shadow was creeping over him, he wrote to the Comte de Paris: "I bow before Him who is Lord of all, and hope to be kept waiting patiently for His time and mode of releasing me according to His Divine Word, and the great and precious promises whereby His people are made partakers of the Divine nature." His niece, Miss Jane Barnard, who tended him with most devoted care, thus wrote from Hampton Court on the 27th June:--"The kind feelings shown on every side towards my dear uncle, and the ready offers of help, are most soothing. I am thankful to say that we are going on very quietly; he keeps his bed and sleeps much, and we think that the paralysis gains on him, but between whiles he speaks most pleasant words, showing his comfort and trust in the finished work of our Lord. The other day he repeated some verses of the 46th Psalm, and yesterday a great part of the 23rd. We can only trust that it may be given us to say truly, 'Thy will be done;' indeed, the belief that all things work together for good to them that believe, is an anchor of hope, sure and steadfast, to the soul. We are surrounded by most kind and affectionate friends, and it is indeed touching to see what warm feelings my dear uncle has raised on all sides."

When his faculties were fading fast, he would sit long at the western window, watching the glories of the sunset; and one day when his wife drew his attention to a beautiful rainbow that then spanned the sky, he looked beyond the falling shower and the many-coloured arch, and observed, "He hath set his testimony in the heavens." On August 25, 1867, quietly, almost imperceptibly, came the release. There was a philosopher less on earth, and a saint more in heaven.

The funeral, at his own request, was of the simplest character. His remains were conveyed to Highgate Cemetery by his relations, and deposited in the grave, according to the practice of his Church, in perfect silence. Few of his scientific friends were in London that bright summer-time, but Professor Graham and one or two others came out from the shrubbery, and joining the group of family mourners, took their last look at the coffin.

But when this sun had set below our earthly horizon, there seemed to spring up in the minds of men a great desire to catch some of the rays of the fading brightness and reflect them to posterity. A "Faraday Memorial" was soon talked of, and the work is now in the sculptor's hands; the Chemical Society has founded a "Faraday Lectureship;" one of the new streets in Paris has been called "Rue Faraday;" biographical sketches have appeared in many of the British and Continental journals; successive books have told the story of his life and work; and in a thousand hearts there is embalmed the memory of this Christian gentleman and philosopher.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] These books, with others bound by Faraday, are preserved in a special cabinet at the Royal Institution, together with more valuable documents,--the laboratory notes of Davy and those of Faraday, his notes of Tatum's and Davy's lectures, copies of his published papers with annotations and indices, notes for lectures and Friday evening discourses, account books, and various memoranda, together with letters from Wollaston, Young, Herschel, Whewell, Mitscherlich, and many others of his fellow-workers in science. These were the gift of his widow, in accordance with his own desire.

[2] This idea was suggested by some remarks of Faraday to the Baroness Burdett Coutts.

[3] Sir Roderick Murchison used to tell how he was attending Brande's lectures, when one day, the Professor being absent, his assistant took his place, and lectured with so much ease that he won the complete approval of the audience. This, he said, was Faraday's first lecture at the Royal Institution.

[4] The laboratory note-book shows that at this very time he was making a long series of commercial analyses of saltpetre for Mr. Brande.

[5] The following anecdote has been sent me on the authority of Mr. Benjamin Abbott:--"Sergeant Anderson was engaged to attend to the furnaces in Mr. Faraday's researches on optical glass in 1828, and was chosen simply because of the habits of strict obedience his military training had given him. His duty was to keep the furnaces always at the same heat, and the water in the ashpit always at the same level. In the evening he was released, but one night Faraday forgot to tell Anderson he could go home, and early next morning he found his faithful servant still stoking the glowing furnace, as he had been doing all night long." A more probable and better authenticated version of this story is that after nightfall Anderson went upstairs to Faraday, who was already in bed, to inquire if he was to remain still on duty.

[6] One evening, when the Rev. A. J. D'Orsey was lecturing "On the Study of the English Language," he mentioned as a common vulgarism that of using "don't" in the third person singular, as "He don't pay his debts." Faraday exclaimed aloud, "That's very wrong."

[7] The _St. Paul's Magazine_, June 1870.

[8] _British Quarterly Review_, April 1868.

[9] See Appendix.

[10] No wonder the celebrated electrician P. Riess, of Berlin, once addressed a long letter to him as "Professor Michael Faraday, Member of all Academies of Science, London."

SECTION II.

STUDY OF HIS CHARACTER.

In the previous section we have traced the leading events of a life which was quietly and uniformly successful. We have watched the passage of the errand-boy into the philosopher, and we have seen how at first he begged for the meanest place in a scientific workshop, and at last declined the highest honour which British Science was capable of granting. His success did not lie in the amassing of money--he deliberately turned aside from the path of proffered wealth; nor did it lie in the attainment of social position and titles--he did not care for the weight of these. But if success consists in a life full of agreeable occupation, with the knowledge that its labours are adding to the happiness and wealth of the world, leading on to an old age full of honour, and the prospect of a blissful immortality,--then the highest success crowned the life of Faraday.

How did he obtain it? Not by inheritance, and not by the force of circumstances. The wealth or the reputation of fathers is often an invaluable starting-point for sons: a liberal education and the contact of superior minds in early youth is often a mighty help to the young aspirant: the favour of powerful friends will often place on a vantage-ground the struggler in the battle of life. But Faraday had none of these. Accidental circumstances sometimes push a man forward, or give him a special advantage over his fellows; but Faraday had to make his circumstances, and to seize the small favours that fortune sometimes threw in his way. The secret of his success lay in the qualities of his mind.

It is only fair, however, to remark that he started with no disadvantages. There was no stain in the family history: he had no dead weight to carry, of a disgraced name, or of bad health, or deficient faculties, or hereditary tendencies to vice. It must be acknowledged, too, that he was endowed with a naturally clear understanding and an unusual power of looking below the surface of things.

The first element of success that we meet with in his biography is the faithfulness with which he did his work. This led the bookseller to take his poor errand-boy as an apprentice; and this enabled his father to write, when he was 18: "Michael is bookbinder and stationer, and is very active at learning his business. He has been most part of four years of his time out of seven. He has a very good master and mistress, and likes his place well. He had a hard time for some while at first going; but, as the old saying goes, he has rather got the head above water, as there is two other boys under him." This faithful industry marked also his relations with Davy and Brande, and the whole of his subsequent life; and at last, when he found that he could no longer discharge his duties, it made him repeatedly press his resignation on the managers of the Royal Institution, and beg to be relieved of his eldership in the Church.

His love of study, and hunger after knowledge, led him to the particular career which he pursued, and that power of imagination, which reveals itself in his early letters, grew and grew, till it gave him such a familiarity with the unseen forces of nature as has never been vouchsafed to any other mortal.

As a source of success there stands out also his enthusiasm. A new fact seemed to charge him with an energy that gleamed from his eyes and quivered through his limbs, and, as by induction, charged for the time those in his presence with the same vigour of interest. Plücker, of Bonn, was showing him one day in the laboratory at Albemarle Street his experiments on the action of a magnet on the electric discharge in vacuum tubes. Faraday danced round them; and as he saw the moving arches of light, he cried, "Oh! to live in it!" Mr. James Heywood once met him in the thick of a tremendous storm at Eastbourne, rubbing his hands with delight because he had been fortunate enough to see the lightning strike the church tower, and displace a pinnacle.

This enthusiasm led him to throw all his heart into his work. Nor was the energy spasmodic, or wasted on unworthy objects; for, in the words of Bence Jones, his was "a lifelong lasting strife to seek and say that which he thought was true, and to do that which he thought was kind."

Indeed, his perseverance in a noble strife was another of the grand elements in his success. His tenacity of purpose showed itself equally in little and in great things. Arranging some apparatus one day with a philosophical instrument maker, he let fall on the floor a small piece of glass: he made several ineffectual attempts to pick it up. "Never mind," said his companion, "it is not worth the trouble." "Well, but, Murray, I don't like to be beaten by something that I have once tried to do."

The same principle is apparent in that long series of electrical researches, where for a quarter of a century he marched steadily along that path of discovery into which he had been lured by the genius of Davy. And so, whatever course was set before him, he ran with patience towards the goal, not diverted by the thousand objects of interest which he passed by, nor stopping to pick up the golden apples that were flung before his feet.

This tremendous faculty of work was relieved by a wonderful playfulness. This rarely appears in his writings, but was very frequent in his social intercourse. It was a simple-hearted joyousness, the effervescence of a spirit at peace with God and man. It not seldom, however, assumed the form of good-natured banter or a practical joke. Indications of this playfulness have already been given, and I have tried to put upon paper some instances that occur to my own recollection, but the fun depended so much upon his manner, that it loses its aroma when separated from himself.

However, I will try one story. I was spending a night at an hotel at Ramsgate when on lighthouse business. Early in the morning there came a knock at the bed-room door, but, as I happened to be performing my ablutions, I cried, "Who's there?" "Guess." I went over the names of my brother commissioners, but heard only "No, no," till, not thinking of any other friend likely to hunt me up in that place, I left off guessing; and on opening the door I saw Faraday enjoying with a laugh my inability to recognize his voice through a deal board.

A student of the late Professor Daniell tells me that he remembers Faraday often coming into the lecture-room at King's College just when the Professor had finished and was explaining matters more fully to any of his pupils who chose to come down to the table. One day the subject discoursed on and illustrated had been sulphuretted hydrogen, and a little of the gas had escaped into the room, as it perversely will do. When Faraday entered he put on a look of astonishment, as though he had never smelt such a thing before, and in a comical manner said, "Ah! a savoury lecture, Daniell!" On another occasion there was a little ammonia left in a jar over mercury. He pressed Daniell to tell him what it was, and when the Professor had put his head down to see more clearly, he whiffed some of the pungent gas into his face.

Occasionally this humour was turned to good account, as when, one Friday evening before the lecture, he told the audience that he had been requested by the managers to mention two cases of infringement of rule. The first related to the red cord which marks off the members' seats. "The second case I take to be a hypothetical one, namely, that of a gentleman wearing his hat in the drawing-room." This produced a laugh, which the Professor joined in, bowed, and retired.

This faithful discharge of duty, this almost intuitive insight into natural phenomena, and this persevering enthusiasm in the pursuit of truth, might alone have secured a great position in the scientific world, but they alone could never have won for him that large inheritance of respect and love. His contemporaries might have gazed upon him with an interest and admiration akin to that with which he watched a thunderstorm; but who feels his affections drawn out towards a mere intellectual Jupiter? We must look deeper into his character to understand this. There is a law well recognized in the science of light and heat, that a body can absorb only the same sort of rays which it is capable of emitting. Just so is it in the moral world. The respect and love of his generation were given to Faraday because his own nature was full of love and respect for others.

Each of these qualities--his respect for and love to others, or, more generally, his reverence and kindliness--deserves careful examination.

Throughout his life, Michael Faraday appeared as though standing in a reverential attitude towards Nature, Man, and God.

Towards Nature, for he regarded the universe as a vast congeries of facts which would not bend to human theories. Speaking of his own early life, he says: "I was a very lively imaginative person, and could believe in the 'Arabian Nights' as easily as in the 'Encyclopædia;' but facts were important to me, and saved me. I could trust a fact, and always cross-examined an assertion." He was indeed a true disciple of that philosophy which says, "Man, who is the servant and interpreter of Nature, can act and understand no farther than he has, either in operation or in contemplation, observed of the method and order of Nature."[11] And verily Nature admitted her servant into her secret chambers, and showed him marvels to interpret to his fellow-men more wonderful and beautiful than the phantasmagoria of Eastern romance.

His reverence towards Man showed itself in the respect he uniformly paid to others and to himself. Thoroughly genuine and simple-hearted himself, he was wont to credit his fellow-men with high motives and good reasons. This was rather uncomfortable when one was conscious of no such merit, and I at least have felt ashamed in his presence of the poor commonplace grounds of my words and actions. To be in his company was in fact a moral tonic. As he had learned the difficult art of honouring all men, he was not likely to run after those whom the world counted great. "We must get Garibaldi to come some Friday evening," said a member of the Institution during the visit of the Italian hero to London. "Well, if Garibaldi thinks he can learn anything from us, we shall be happy to see him," was Faraday's reply. This nobility of regard not only preserved him from envying the success of other explorers in the same field, but led him heartily to rejoice with them in their discoveries.

Dumas gives us a picture of Foucault showing Faraday some of his admirable experiments, and of the two men looking at one another with eyes moistened, but full of bright expression, as they stood hand in hand, silently thankful--the one for the pleasure he had experienced, the other for the honour that had been done him. He also tells how, on another occasion, he breakfasted at Albemarle Street, and during the meal Mr. Faraday made some eulogistic remarks upon Davy, which were coldly received by his guest. After breakfast, he was taken downstairs to the ante-room of the lecture theatre, when Faraday, walking up to the portrait of his old master, exclaimed, "Wasn't he a great man!" then turning round to the window next the entrance door, he added, "It was there that he spoke to me for the first time." The Frenchman bowed. They descended the stairs again to the laboratory. Faraday pulled out an old note-book, and turning over its pages showed where Davy had entered the means by which the first globule of potassium was produced, and had drawn a line round the description, with the words, "Capital experiment." The French chemist owned himself vanquished, and tells the tale in honour of him who remembered the greatness and forgot the littlenesses of his teacher.

And the respect he showed to others he required to be shown to himself. It is difficult to imagine anyone taking liberties with him, and it was only in early life that there were small-minded creatures who would treat him not according to what he was, but according to the position from which he had risen. His servants and workpeople were always attentive to the smallest expression of his wish. Still, he did not "go through his life with his elbows out." He once wrote to Matteucci: "I see that that moves you which would move me most, viz. the imputation of a want of good faith; and I cordially sympathize with anyone who is so charged unjustly. Such cases have seemed to me almost the only ones for which it is worth while entering into controversy. I have felt myself not unfrequently misunderstood, often misrepresented, sometimes passed by, as in the cases of specific inductive capacity, magneto-electric currents, definite electrolytic action, &c. &c.: but it is only in the cases where moral turpitude has been implied, that I have felt called upon to enter on the subject in reply." Yet, where he felt that his honour was impugned, none could be more sensitive or more resolute.

This desire to clear himself, combined with his delicate regard for the feelings of others, struck me forcibly in the following incident. At Mr. Barlow's, one Friday evening after the discourse, two or three other chemists and myself were commenting unfavourably on a public act of Faraday, when suddenly he appeared beside us. I did not hesitate to tell him my opinion. He gave me a short answer, and joined others of the company. A few days afterwards he found me in the laboratory preparing for a lecture, and, without referring directly to what I had said, he gave me a full history of the transaction in such a way as to show that he could not have acted otherwise, and at the same time to render any apology on my part unnecessary.

Intimately connected with his respect for Man as well as reverence for truth, was the flash of his indignation against any injustice, and his hot anger against any whom he discovered to be pretenders. When, for instance, he had convinced himself that the reputed facts of table-turning and spiritualism were false, his severe denunciation of the whole thing followed as a matter of course.

Thus, too, a story is told of his once taking the side of the injured in a street quarrel by the pump in Savile Row. One evening also at my house, a young man who has since acquired a scientific renown was showing specimens of some new compounds he had made. A well-known chemist contemptuously objected that, after all, they were mere products of the laboratory: but Faraday came to the help of the young experimenter, and contended that they were chemical substances worthy of attention, just as much as though they occurred in nature.

His reverence for God was shown not merely by that homage which every religious man must pay to his Creator and Redeemer, but by the enfolding of the words of Scripture and similar expressions in such a robe of sacredness, that he rarely allowed them to pass his lips or flow from his pen, unless he was convinced of the full sympathy of the person with whom he was holding intercourse.

This characteristic reverence was united to an equally characteristic kindliness. This word does not exactly express the quality intended; but unselfishness is negative, goodness is too general, love is commonly used with special applications; kindness, friendship, geniality, and benevolence are only single aspects of the quality. Let the reader add these terms all together, and the resultant will be about what is meant.[12]

Faraday's love to children was one way in which this kindliness was shown. Having no children of his own, he surrounded himself usually with his nieces: we have already had a glimpse of him heartily entering into their play, and we are told how a word or two from Uncle would clear away all the trouble from a difficult lesson, that a long sum in arithmetic became a delight when he undertook to explain it, and that when the little girl was naughty and rebellious, he could gently win her round, telling her how he used to feel himself when he was young, and advising her to submit to the reproof she was fighting against. Nor were his own relatives the only sharers of his kindness. One friend cherishes among his earliest recollections, that of Faraday making for him a fly-cage and a paper purse, which had a real bright half-crown in it. When the present Mr. Baden Powell was a little fellow of thirteen, he used to give short lectures on chemistry in his father's house, and the philosopher of Albemarle Street liked to join the family audience, and would listen and applaud the experiments heartily. When one day my wife and I called on him with our children, he set them playing at hide-and-seek in the lecture theatre, and afterwards amused them upstairs with tuning-forks and resounding glasses. At a _soirée_ at Mr. Justice Grove's, he wanted to see the younger children of the family; so the eldest daughter brought down the little ones in their nightgowns to the foot of the stairs, and Faraday expressed his gratification with "Ah! that's the best thing you have done to-night." And when his faculties had nearly faded, it is remembered how the stroking of his hand by Mr. Vincent's little daughter quickened him again to bright and loving interest.

It would be easy to multiply illustrations of this kindliness in various relations of life.