“Every minute,” continued M. Krempe with
warmth, “every instant that you have wasted on those books is utterly
and entirely lost. You have burdened your memory with exploded systems,
and useless names. Good God! in what desert land have you lived, where
no one was kind enough to inform you that these fancies, which you have
so greedily imbibed, are a thousand years old, and as musty as they are
ancient? I little expected in this enlightened and scientific age to
find a disciple of Albertus Magnus and Paracelsus. My dear Sir, you must
begin your studies entirely anew.”

So saying, he stept aside, and wrote down a list of several books
treating of natural philosophy, which he desired me to procure, and
dismissed me, after mentioning that in the beginning of the following
week he intended to commence a course of lectures upon natural
philosophy in its general relations, and that M. Waldman, a
fellow-professor, would lecture upon chemistry the alternate days that
he missed. I returned home, not disappointed, for I had long considered those
authors useless whom the professor had so strongly reprobated; but I did
not feel much inclined to study the books which I procured at his
recommendation. M. Krempe was a little squat man, with a gruff voice and
repulsive countenance; the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me in
favour of his doctrine. Besides, I had a contempt for the uses of modern
natural philosophy. It was very different, when the masters of the
science sought immortality and power; such views, although futile, were
grand: but now the scene was changed. The ambition of the inquirer
seemed to limit itself to the annihilation of those visions on which my
interest in science was chiefly founded. I was required to exchange
chimeras of boundless grandeur for realities of little worth. Such were my reflections during the first two or three days spent almost
in solitude. But as the ensuing week commenced, I thought of the
information which M. Krempe had given me concerning the lectures. And
although I could not consent to go and hear that little conceited fellow
deliver sentences out of a pulpit, I recollected what he had said of M.
Waldman, whom I had never seen, as he had hitherto been out of town. Partly from curiosity, and partly from idleness, I went into the
lecturing room, which M. Waldman entered shortly after. This professor
was very unlike his colleague. He appeared about fifty years of age, but
with an aspect expressive of the greatest benevolence; a few gray hairs
covered his temples, but those at the back of his head were nearly
black. His person was short, but remarkably erect; and his voice the
sweetest I had ever heard. He began his lecture by a recapitulation of
the history of chemistry and the various improvements made by different
men of learning, pronouncing with fervour the names of the most
distinguished discoverers. He then took a cursory view of the present
state of the science, and explained many of its elementary terms. After
having made a few preparatory experiments, he concluded with a panegyric
upon modern chemistry, the terms of which I shall never forget:—

“The ancient teachers of this science,” said he, “promised
impossibilities, and performed nothing. The modern masters promise very
little; they know that metals cannot be transmuted, and that the elixir
of life is a chimera. But these philosophers, whose hands seem only made
to dabble in dirt, and their eyes to pour over the microscope or
crucible, have indeed performed miracles. They penetrate into the
recesses of nature, and shew how she works in her hiding places. They
ascend into the heavens; they have discovered how the blood circulates,
and the nature of the air we breathe. They have acquired new and almost
unlimited powers; they can command the thunders of heaven, mimic the
earthquake, and even mock the invisible world with its own shadows.”

I departed highly pleased with the professor and his lecture, and paid
him a visit the same evening. His manners in private were even more mild
and attractive than in public; for there was a certain dignity in his
mien during his lecture, which in his own house was replaced by the
greatest affability and kindness. He heard with attention my little
narration concerning my studies, and smiled at the names of Cornelius
Agrippa, and Paracelsus, but without the contempt that M. Krempe had
exhibited. He said, that “these were men to whose indefatigable zeal
modern philosophers were indebted for most of the foundations of their
knowledge. They had left to us, as an easier task, to give new names,
and arrange in connected classifications, the facts which they in a
great degree had been the instruments of bringing to light. The labours
of men of genius, however erroneously directed, scarcely ever fail in
ultimately turning to the solid advantage of mankind.” I listened to his
statement, which was delivered without any presumption or affectation;
and then added, that his lecture had removed my prejudices against
modern chemists; and I, at the same time, requested his advice
concerning the books I ought to procure. “I am happy,” said M. Waldman, “to have gained a disciple; and if your
application equals your ability, I have no doubt of your success. Chemistry is that branch of natural philosophy in which the greatest
improvements have been and may be made; it is on that account that I
have made it my peculiar study; but at the same time I have not
neglected the other branches of science. A man would make but a very
sorry chemist, if he attended to that department of human knowledge
alone. If your wish is to become really a man of science, and not merely
a petty experimentalist, I should advise you to apply to every branch of
natural philosophy, including mathematics.”

He then took me into his laboratory, and explained to me the uses of
his various machines; instructing me as to what I ought to procure, and
promising me the use of his own, when I should have advanced far enough
in the science not to derange their mechanism. He also gave me the list
of books which I had requested; and I took my leave. Thus ended a day memorable to me; it decided my future destiny. CHAPTER III. From this day natural philosophy, and particularly chemistry, in the
most comprehensive sense of the term, became nearly my sole occupation. I read with ardour those works, so full of genius and discrimination,
which modern inquirers have written on these subjects. I attended the
lectures, and cultivated the acquaintance, of the men of science of the
university; and I found even in M. Krempe a great deal of sound sense
and real information, combined, it is true, with a repulsive physiognomy
and manners, but not on that account the less valuable. In M. Waldman I
found a true friend. His gentleness was never tinged by dogmatism; and
his instructions were given with an air of frankness and good nature,
that banished every idea of pedantry.